THE    SIAMESE    CAT 


THE  SIAMESE  CAT 


BY 


HENRY  MILNER  RIDEOUT 

Author  of  "  The  White  Tiger  "  "  The  Far  Cry  " 

"  The  Key  of  the  Fields  and  B  older o  " 

"  Tin  Cowrie  Doss  "  etc. 


NEW  YORK 

DUFFIELD  &  COMPANY 
1919 


Copyright,  1907,  McClure,  Phillips  &  Company 


,\ 


•0] 


fjhf,1  1907,  Tte  Ktyfi  Publishing  Cvtnpany 


A 


To  my  Brother 
DUNNING  HIDEOUT 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I  TIME  AND  CHANCE 3 

II  CHITS  AND  CATS       33 

III  THE  LUKKER  IN  THE  RUINS      ...    61 

IV  BlINDMAN'S-BUFF        89 

V  ABOARD  THE  "MUANG-FANG"  .    .    .  115 
VI  THE  LADY  FROM  MAURITIUS    .    .    .141 

VII  THE  CATJS  HOLIDAY 173 

VIII  AMENDS  .  201 


CHAPTER   ONE 

TIME  AND   CHANCE 


"TIME  AND  CHANCE" 

The  Fates  and  the  Feline  brought  it  all  to  pass. 
In  doing  so  they  roamed  a  wide  territory, —  the 
privilege  both  of  those  grim  gadabout  humour- 
ists, the  Parcae,  and  of  harmless,  necessary 
cats. 

By  chance,  within  the  gates  of  a  Japanese 
temple,  a  sudden  shower  caught  Owen  Scarlett 
idling,  and  drove  him  into  the  nearest  shelter, 
which  happened  to  be  a  tiny,  dark  aquarium. 
There,  lounging  pleasantly,  listening  to  the 
raindrops  on  the  roof,  watching  the  purple 
and  golden  fish  steer  through  cool  bubbles 
green  as  jade,  he  found  himself  near  a  group 
of  three  women  in  the  dusk.  Europeans,  there- 
fore tourists,  he  thought.  As  the  tank  con- 
tained nothing  but  a  few  coral  rocks  and  pink 

[3] 


THE   SIAMESE    GAT 

sponges,  he  was  about  to  pass  on,  when  by 
chance  he  saw  that  one  of  the  sponges  was 
breathing,  with  an  oozy,  half-organic  motion, 
sucking  in  bubbles  through  some  shapeless 
orifice.  He  watched,  and  suddenly  the  breath- 
ing mass  shot  out,  opened  like  a  ragged  um- 
brella of  pink  flesh,  sailed  along  the  glass  with 
tentacles  writhing,  and  stared  at  them  with  an 
evil  black  eye  set  in  a  pulpy  face. 

The  women  squealed,  and  the  nearest  turned 
instinctively  to  Scarlett. 

"Horrible!"  she  cried.  "Ugh!"  They  both 
made  the  same  face  of  disgust,  and  then  in 
a  comic  impulse  of  relief,  smiled  at  each  other. 
Even  in  the  green  light  from  the  tank,  she 
was  a  pretty  girl.  Her  eyes  shone  blue  and 
friendly,  her  face  bright  with  the  candour  of 
youth.  In  a  flash,  however,  she  had  bethought 
herself  and  turned  away. 

"It's  a  devil-fish,  Aunty,"  she  said  with  com- 
[4] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

posure.  "Do  come  and  see  something  pleas- 
ant." And  she  led  away  her  two  elder  compan- 
ions. 

That  was  all:  but  for  months  afterward, 
when  hard  work  had  crushed  out  the  memory 
of  his  brief  holiday  in  Japan ;  in  odd  moments, 
among  the  leprous  goblin  cities  of  the  China 
Coast,  among  the  million  rat-hole  lives  of 
Canton,  or  Wu-chow,  or  Hoi-how,  or  in  offices 
overlooking  the  saffron  flood  and  slushy  bund 
of  a  Shanghai  winter,  he  remembered  the 
incident,  and  in  imagination  saw  the  girl's 
clear  and  merry  eyes.  A  trifle  to  recall;  yet 
it  was  a  vague  comfort  in  some  of  those  lonely, 
worried,  weary  moments  which,  among  unholy 
sights,  sounds  and  stenches,  come  to  a  solitary 
white  man  lost  in  the  flux  and  flow  of  the  yel- 
low myriads.  Once,  in  Hong-Kong,  half  way 
through  a  letter  to  his  uncle's  firm,  he  looked 
up  from  the  type- writer,  stared  across  the  har- 

[5] 


THE    SIAMESE   CAT 

hour  turmoil  of  junks  and  launches  to  the  brick- 
red  hills  beyond  Kowloon,  and  said :  "  I'll  bet 
her  aunts  were  from  New  England."  He 
laughed,  remembering  their  prim,  cool  glances 
at  him.  And  she  herself  had  been  dressed  in 
blue  and  white  things.  .  .  . 

What  nonsense!  Back  to  work,  hammering 
at  the  keyboard:  "...  in  my  opinion, 
therefore,  best  to  sacrifice  a  little  of  H.  K.  pro- 
fits and  get  a  bigger  start  in  the  provinces.  Push 
more  of  the  following  chops:  ' Dragon-pearl,5 
'Long  Life/  'Monkey-Bird'  ..."  He 
ticked  manfully  onward. 

Again  by  chance:  on  a  steamer  bound  for 
Saigon,  as  he  stepped  out  of  his  bath,  a  roll 
threw  him  plump  against  a  burly  man  in  a 
green  silk  kimono. 

"Hello!  No  harm  done!"  boomed  a  cheer- 
ful bass.  The  man  was  a  broad  six-footer, 
with  a  short,  vigorous,  grizzled  beard  parted 

[6] 


TIME  AND   CHANCE 

down  the  middle,  and  under  jutting  brows, 
a  pair  of  deep-set  eyes  that  shone  with  a 
changeable  light.  His  air  was  that  of  some 
robust,  good-humoured  Taipan.  "All  right ?" 
he  laughed;  and  the  tail  of  his  green  be- 
dragoned  silk  whisked  into  the  next  compart- 
ment, from  which  soon  issued  a  genial  roar: 
"O  boy!  My  no  towel  no  have-got!  Catchee 
mai-wun!  Fai-di!" 

On  the  evening  of  the  same  day,  in  the  din- 
ing-room, a  German  antiquary  going  to  Angkor 
looked  up  from  his  solitaire,  caught  Scarlett's 
eye  across  the  table,  and  said  guardedly: 

"You  are  not  a  friendt  to  der  larch  man  in 
der  corner  smoking,  and  who  now  hass  gone 
top-side,  no  ?"  His  glance  took  in  the  retreating 
figure  of  the  man  with  the  trimly  parted  beard. 

"No,"  said  Scarlett. 

"  Dot  iss  goot,"  the  German  nodded  heavily. 
"  It  iss  Borkman,  der  biggest  scountrel  in  der 

m 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

Oryent.  For  cardts,  women,  f  raudts,  and  allerlei 
badt  business,  sober  or  dronk,  iss  he  der  vorst." 
After  intellectual  labour,  the  antiquary  played 
a  red  Knave  cautiously  upon  a  black  Queen. 
"And  dere  are  many  off  dem  .  .  .  You 
haf  heardt,  no,  of  der  missionair'  girl  at  der 
Boxers'  troupple,  who  wass  skinnedt  alife  ? 
He  safed  his  own  skin  zo.  Oh,  yess,  it  iss 
true."  The  antiquary  leaned  back  and  told  a 
hideous  story  in  detail,  blowing  pompous,  con- 
tented clouds  of  cigar  smoke,  brushing  the 
sparks  from  his  Chef oo  silk,  and  looking  serene- 
ly out  of  the  open  door,  where  to  the  roll  of  the 
ship  a  large  and  lustrous  star  lowered  and 
mounted  in  the  pale  moonlit  blue.  "Alzo, 
Borkman  —  he  escaped  with  loot.  Der  efil- 
men  brosber  —  immer  so  —  Achl  .  .  .  But 
he  wass  kicked  out  yet  once,  in  a  clubp  off 
Zebu.  Gootness  me,  yess." 

The  story  was  interesting  if  true,  th< 


TIME  AND   CHANCE 

Scarlett;  but  the  big  man,  for  all  that  his  eyes 
held  at  times  an  opal  glow,  appeared  too  frank 
and  hearty  for  so  grim  a  history.  And  later,  the 
German  innocently  told  a  set  of  gross  fictions, 
palpable  Shanghai  "bunders";  whereas  the  big 
man,  when  they  reached  Saigon,  went  out  of 
his  way  to  oblige  Scarlett  with  some  valuable 
information,  and  laughing  all  thanks  jovially 
aside,  disappeared  down  a  wide  and  empty 
boulevard  of  red  clay,  into  that  artificial  Paris 
of  the  Orient. 

Again  by  chance,  it  was  late  March  when 
Scarlett  opened  and  joyfully  read  a  letter  from 
his  uncle's  firm  which,  ending  his  long  exile  on 
the  China  seaboard,  recalled  him  to  take  charge 
of  their  Oriental  department,  and  gave  him 
till  September  to  wind  up  his  affairs  and  reach 
the  home  office. 

"Must  have  made  good,  more  or  less," 
thoji  hi  Owen,  happily.  "Now  which  way 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

Home  ?  Pacific  or  Suez  ?"  The  Telegraph  Ex- 
press showed,  among  the  earliest  departures, 
a  German  Lloyd  for  Nagasaki  and  an  Apcar  for 
Singapore.  " Toss  for  it/'  he  decided.  "Heads 
Lloyd,  tails  Apcar.  "And  Fortune,  once  more 
pouncing  down  into  the  game,  rang  the  Mexi- 
can dollar  on  the  table,  tails  up. 

On  an  April  evening  in  Singapore,  he  had 
gone  to  a  ball  at  the  Tanglin  Club,  where  a 
somewhat  fagged  company  were  dancing  away 
the  humid  hours.  Tired  of  the  crowding  cou- 
ples, the  lights,  the  music,  the  labour  of  this 
clammy  tropical  pastime,  Owen  was  heading 
for  the  card-tables,  when  a  friend  seized  and 
bore  him  back: 

"No  you  don't  .  .  .  come  along  .  .  . 
present  you  .  .  .  compatriot  of  yours 
.  .  .  Miss  Holborow— 

Among  the  pale  and  jaded  residents  she 
shone  out  a  breezy,  tanned  seafarer. 

[10] 


TIME  AND  CHANCE 

"Why,  you're  the  devil-fish  girl!"  he  ex- 
claimed. Their  laughter  mingled  happily. 

"  What  a  horrid  name !  But  it  shows  a  flatter- 
ing memory,"  she  said.  "Still,  I  knew  you  clear 
across  from  the  doorway,  coming  in — ' 

Scarlett  replied,  in  cold  and  feeble  words  for 
a  heart  aglow.  Their  faces  might  have  shown 
how  glad  they  were;  and  of  this  the  girl  was 
perhaps  aware,  for  on  a  sudden  she  made  the 
matter  less  personal,  saying: 

"It's  good  to  see  an  American  again,  isn't 
it  ?  You  live  out  here  in  the  East  ?" 

"Not  now,  thank  Heaven,"  said  Owen. 
"Ship  me  somewhere  west  of  Suez.  I'm  tired 
of  it.  I'm  just  going — "  By  a  flash  of  genius 
he  stopped  before  committing  himself.  "I'm 
just  going  about  on  a  few  errands,  to  and  fro 
in  the  world.  You're  travelling,  too,  aren't 
you?" 

4 Yes,"  replied  the  girl.  "My  aunt  and  I  are 
[11] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

going  back  by  Suez.  Her  friend  deserted  her  in 
China,  and  we've  taken  a  courier  to  protect 
us,  and  now  we're  running  up  to  Siam,  to 
Bangkok." 

"That's  odd,  isn't  it  ?"  he  returned,  brazen- 
ly. "  I  have  to  go  there  myself,  on  —  a  matter. 
You  go  by  the  German  Mail,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  Oh,  no,  by  the  '  Prapatom,'  on  Saturday," 
she  explained.  "There'll  be  a  crowd  on 
board,  and  'a  stupid  crowd  of  foreigners,' 
I'm  afraid." 

"I  can  promise  not  to  be  a  foreigner,  at 
least,"  he  laughed.  "The  'Prapatom'  happens 
to  be  my  steamer.  .  .  . 

A  straight  and  shining  military  youth  sud- 
denly drew  himself  up  tall  before  them,  and 
drawling  officially,  reported  that  the  dance  was 
his. 

"  I  hope  to  see  you  on  board,  then,  Mr.  Scar- 
lett," she  called  with  a  smile  over  her  shoulder, 


TIME  AND  CHANCE 

as  she  was  caught  into  the  whirl  of  skipping 
feet  and  sad,  preoccupied  faces. 

As  for  Owen,  he  found  an  obscure  chair  in 
the  verandah.  For  a  long  time  he  smoked, 
grateful  to  destiny,  watching  the  broad  banana 
leaves,  a  sheaf  of  giant  quill-pens  in  living  green, 
as  they  drooped  and  swayed  in  the  lamplight 
under  the  cool,  damp  breath  of  the  night  breeze. 
"What  luck,  what  luck!"  he  told  himself  in 
wonder. 

Before  the  morning  had  time  to  glare,  Owen 
had  rattled  in  a  dark-shuttered  gharri  to  the 
shipping-office ;  and  two  days  later,  sweltering  in 
the  muffled  sunlight  under  the  "Prapatom's" 
awning,  he  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  large 
canvas  trunks,  marked  "L.  H.,"  slung  upon  the 
forward  deck  by  the  wild-haired  Malays. 

"Lucky  I  didn't  toss  heads,"  thought  this 
young  adventurer.  Never  before  did  clank  of 
winch  or  chatter  of  coolies  seem  so  joyful;  never 

f       [18] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

before  the  act  of  waiting  so  happy  and  so  vexa- 
tious. 

But  he  was  not  of  the  sort  to  hurry  matters, 
or  plan  vulgar  stratagems  among  deck-chairs 
or  places  at  table.  From  the  upper  end  of  the 
captain's  mess,  he  had  the  mild  pleasure  of 
bowing  to  Miss  Holborow  at  the  lower.  She 
sat,  in  white,  beside  a  prim  little  woman  in 
grey.  Down  the  length  of  the  table  the  fwnkah 
wagged  slow  and  cool,  like  a  boom  with  a 
valance  of  canvas  flapping  below.  As  he  stole 
a  look  under  the  frill  of  this  from  time  to  time, 
he  could  see  the  aunt  utter  a  few  staid  sen- 
'  tences,  and  the  girl  reply. 

Presently,  to  his  surprise,  in  marched  a 
white-clad  giant,  his  friend  of  the  Saigon 
boat, —  Borkman  of  the  parted  beard.  He 
chose  the  chair  opposite  the  two  ladies,  and 
bowed  with  an  almost  familiar  air.  They  re- 
turned the  bow  graciously  enough. 

[14] 


TIME  AND  CHANCE 

The  captain  grunted.  He  was  a  clean  elderly 
Englishman,  with  cheeks  ruddy  from  whisky 
and  tropic  weather,  but  fine  grey  eyes  full  of 
honesty.  All  through  dinner  he  watched  the 
:<>wer  end  of  the  table;  at  last  he  beckoned  to 
an  alert,  little,  withered  Chinaman  in  a  pale 
Hue  robe. 

"Ah  Fook,"  said  the  captain,  rather  loudly, 
how  fashion  this  coffee  b'long  no  good  ?  Make 
him  more  better,  chop-chop!" 

"  Can  do,"  said  the  steward,  blinking  gravely. 

"Man-man"  the  captain  went  on,  in  a  low- 
rred  voice,  barely  audible  to  Scarlett.  "You 
see  gentleman  down  next  Number  One  officer  ? 
He  eat  his  chow  bottom-side  Number  Two 
table  breakfast.  B'long  so.  You  catchee  cards. 
You  savee  ?" 

"  Can  do,"  repeated  the  Celestial. 

"Impudent  bounder,"  the  captain  grum- 
bled; and  then,  changing  the  subject,  he  re- 

[15] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

marked  to  Scarlett,   "She's   making  a  good 
thirteen  knots  to-night,  do  you  know  ?" 

Whatever  hopes  Owen  might  have  had  for 
that  evening  were  disappointed;  for  Miss  Hol- 
borow  stayed  in  the  stuffy  saloon  and  played 
picquet  dutifully  with  her  aunt.  Walking  seven 
miles  round  the  deck, —  passing  from  the  mys- 
tery of  vast  moonlit  space  and  a  witch-fire 
ocean  of  phosphorous,  astern,  into  the  swaying 
lantern-light  amidships  —  he  could  see  the 
two  women  through  one  porthole,  and  through 
the  next,  in  the  little  hazy  smoking-room,  the 
big  countenance  of  Borkman,  presiding  radi- 
antly over  a  circle  of  yellow  glasses. 

"He  has  cheek  enough,"  thought  Scarlett. 
"I'll  have  to  ask  the  captain  about  him  some 
time." 

Then  came  a  whole  morning  of  delight.  Soon 
after  breakfast,  he  found  himself  being  intro- 
duced to  the  aunt,  and  presently  sitting  in  a 

[16] 


TIME  AND  CHANCE 

Canvas  sling  chair  next  Miss  Holborow  herself. 

The  aunt  was  a  bright-eyed,  spare,  spinster- 
like  little  matron,  whose  grey  hair  was  close- 
hauled  about  a  pert  though  elderly  head.  She 
drew  in  her  chin  with  a  bird-like  motion,  and 
gave  Owen  an  odd  look,  half-friendly,  half- 
suspicious,  which  declared  —  "  You  seem  pass- 
able, but  one  can't  be  too  careful."  All  that 
she  said,  however,  was: 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Scarlett.  My  niece  has 
told  me  of  having  met  you  at  the  Tanglin 
dance."  She  spoke  as  one  whose  conscience 
pursues  her  to  the  minutest  parts  of  speech. 
"Your  name  is  very  familiar  to  me:  it  must  be 
that  you  have  relatives  in — "  And,  being  satis- 
fied on  this  point,  Mrs.  Holborow  withdrew 
from  the  conversation,  to  become  calmly  en- 
grossed in  a  magazine  essay  on  "Thoreau,  the 
Man."  Evidently  her  mind  to  her  a  kingdom 
was;  yet  Owen,  looking  up  from  the  happiest 

[17] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

of  talk,:could  now  and  then  catch  the  reader's 
eye  flickering  back  at  them  warily  out  o^  the 
corner,  like  the  glance  of  a  nervous  mare 
driven  without  blinders. 

There  was  nothing  in  the  talk  to  disturb 
that  best  of  chaperons.  The  girl  and  the 
young  man,  having  laboriously  dug  up  com- 
mon acquaintances,  pitched  them  overboard 
and  began  to  find  out  more  about  each 
other.  From  their  long  chairs  in  the  canvas- 
muffled  sunlight,  they  could  look  under  the 
rail-awnings,  out  over  the  sapphire  calm  of 
the  South  China  Sea.  All  about  the  ship  fly- 
ing-fish, like  silver  humming-birds,  skimmed 
along  on  shivering  wings,  to  vanish  into  the 
slope  of  a  little  wave  with  a  sunlit  splash  as  of 
bullets  volleyed  and  scattering. 

"I'm  never  tired  of  seeing  them,"  said  the 
girl,  and  screened  her  eyes  with  one  brown 
hand. 

[18] 


TIME  AND  CHANCE 

"No  —  yes  —  very  pretty/'  replied  Scar- 
lett. It  was  the  flutter  of  her  hair  in  the 
hot,  faint  breeze  that  he  had  been  watch- 
ing; and  his  mind  was  filled  with  specula- 
tion and  misgiving.  "You've  chosen  lucky 
weather,  and  a  good  voyage.  Travellers 
don't  come  up  here  so  often;  Bangkok's  a 
quiet  place." 

"That's  just  it,"  she  rejoined.  "I'm  tired  of 
being  a  tourist  in  a  groove;  my  aunt's  tired  of 
places  that  are  not  quiet.  We  have  an  acquaint- 
ance or  two  up  there.  And  then,  she  hasn't 
been  happy  since  we  left  Japan  —  doesn't 
like  the  East  very  well,  I'm  afraid.  Do  you, 
Aunt  Julia?" 

Mrs.  Holborow,  frowning  over  the  fine 
print,  tossed  her  chin  impatiently. 

"No,"  she  said;  then  launched  a  thunder- 
bolt. "All  the  men  are  bibulous,  and  the  wo- 
men devoid  of  ideas.  Of  course,"  she  added, 

[19] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

glancing  off  the  page,  "the  scenery  is  extremely 
—  er  —  picturesque." 

She  ducked  again  into  the  cool  depths  of 
Walden  Pond.  Scarlett  discovered  that  a  pretty 
face  can  twitch  into  odd  curves. 

"You  see,  her  friend  Mrs.  Bolton  decided 
to  stay  with  relatives,"  the  girl  explained. 
"  After  that  I  had  trouble  persuading  my  aunt 
to  come  on;  but  she  finally  gave  in  when  we 
found  we  could  take  a  reliable  courier,  to 
manage  our  trunks  and  plunder  and  things. 
He's  a  jewel,  that  man !  Very  good  recommen- 
dations, and  knows  everything !  My  aunt  ap- 
proves of  him,  and  she's  hard  to  please.  Aunt 
Julia!" 

No  answer  came  from  among  the  pages. 

"Aunty  dear!  Isn't  our  courier  a  lovey 
duck?" 

Mrs.  Holborow  looked  up  severely. 

"No,"  she  informed  them.  "I  wish  you 
[20] 


TIME  AND  CHANCE 

wouldn't  be  so  silly,  Laura.  He's  quite  capable 
and  obliging;  but  please  don't  interrupt  me 
now,  dear.  I'm  reading  such  an  excellent  thing. 
This  '  Thoreau,  the  Man/ —  it's  so  —  er  — 
suggestive,  and  —  human,  and  —  er  —  stimu- 
lating." 

"Let's  take  a  walk,  then,"  the  girl  said 
promptly;  and  lagging  somewhat  in  the  drowsy 
heat,  the  two  started  off  round  the  deck.  She 
was  very  straight,  with  no  seeming  effort  to 
poise;  walked  easily,  without  slatting  her  arms 
or  whisking  her  skirts  or  thrusting  her  face 
forward;  and,  altogether,  he  thought,  had  the 
gait  and  action  of  a  sensible  girl.  Several  turns 
they  made  together,  passing  the  loungers  in 
the  deck-chairs :  Mrs.  Holborow,  still  rapt  and 
stimulated;  a  trim  nervous  Englishman  rust- 
ling the  sheets  of  the  "Pink  'Un,"  whom  Owen 
set  down  vaguely  as  the  admired  courier;  a 
plump  little  brown  Japanese,  smiling  toothfully 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

at  the  dreamy  universe;  Borkman  parting 
with  jewelled  fingers  his  sable-silvered  beard, 
as  he  listened  politely,  but  with  mirthful  eyes, 
to  the  .earnest  talk  of  a  sallow  missionary;  and 
a  rich  Chinese  merchant  who,  in  a  robe  of  black 
figured  silk,  sat  reading  with  grave  approval 
"  The  Swiss  Family  Robinson." 

In  this  company  they  made  the  voyage,  five 
lazy,  shining  days  of  companionship:  cool 
sunrise  hours  when  they  met  in  wraps  and 
sandals,  to  eat  mangoes  and  watch  the  Malays 
scrub  the  deck  with  half-cocoanut-shells ;  noons 
of  fierce  heat  smiting  from  the  zenith,  when 
the  steerage  Klings,  in  turbans  of  rainbow 
plaid,  trolled  for  barracouta  in  a  wake  as  of 
snow  and  bluing;  and  nights  of  veiled  moon- 
light, when  the  wide  gulf  shivered  with  heat- 
lightning,  at  whose  all-pervading  tremor  the 
lost  horizon  leapt  forth  black  and  startling.  No 
marvel  of  sea  or  sky  appeared  to  Scarlett  as 

[**] 


TIME  AND  CHANCE 

more  than  Laura's  rightful  setting  and  back- 
ground. And  Speech,  that  to  others  had  been 
flat  and  tedious,  became  to  them  as  simple  as 
the  elements,  potential  as  springtime,  miracu- 
lous as  revelation. 

In  those  days  they  should  have  blessed 
"Thoreau,  the  Man." 

On  the  last  morning,  when  the  azure  Gulf 
of  Siam  was  lost  in  the  yellow  outpour  at  Koh- 
si-chang,  and  crossing  the  bar,  the  "  Prapatom" 
had  steamed  into  the  river,  Scarlett  and  the 
girl  stood  together  by  the  rail.  They  were 
silent,  looking  back  to  where,  in  the  liquid 
light  of  dawn,  the  temple  of  Pak-nam  rose 
from  a  fairy  island,  like  the  tall  white  helmet 
of  a  sunken  genie.  Slowly  the  ship  moved  up  a 
river  of  molten  copper,  between  low  banks  of 
vivid  green  bush  and  slim  areca  palms.  From 
the  bosky  mouth  of  a  hidden  waterway,  here 
and  there,  sampans  stole  out,  —  a  lithe  figure 

[23] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

bent  forward  at  the  sweep  —  to  break  the  green 
reflection  with  a  curved  long-bow  of  ripples. 
It  was  the  season  of  the  mango  showers,  and 
the  breeze  came  heavy  with  perfume  from  yel- 
low-burgeoning acacias.  On  the  lower  deck, 
Chinamen  sluiced  their  sallow  bodies  with 
muddy  water;  soft-eyed  Cingalese  thrust  in 
their  round-combs;  Malays  knotted  their 
bright  sarongs  for  another  day. 

"All  these  will  be  scattering  into  Siam," 
said  Miss  Holborow.  "Isn't  it  fun  guessing 
where  people  come  from  and  go  to,  out  here  ? 
The  East  is  a  wonderful  kaleidoscope  in  that 
way,  I  think  —  always  changing,  pictures, 
pictures,  appearing,  melting.  .  .  .  Do 
you  know,  sometimes  I'm  a  little  afraid 
of  it." 

"I  know,"  said  Scarlett,  and  was  silent. 
Eight  years  of  China  had  left  him  little  fun  in 
that  sort  of  guessing.  At  Bangkok,  all  these 


TIME  AND  CHANCE 

particular  sights  would  vanish:  this  girl  and 
her  aunt  would,  like  the  rest,  depart  into  mem- 
ories. They  would  join  their  friends,  he  would 
languish  among  strangers,  and  all  his  valiant, 
hare-brained  stratagem  would  come  to  nothing. 
That  would  never  do. 

"Miss  Holborow,"  he  began  in  a  resolute 
voice.  "Please  don't  be  offended."  His  tone 
made  her  look  up  quickly  for  an  instant;  and 
for  that  instant  he  floundered  in  a  new  and 
singular  confusion.  "You'll  think  it  very  odd, 
and  blunt,  and.  .  .  .  Well,  I've  seen  you 
three  times,  twice  by  chance.  But  for  all  that. 
.  .  .  By  George,  it  won't  do  to  have  you 
go  disappearing  here  in  Siam.  The  world's 
terribly  big;  especially  the  East,  where  you 
lose  your  memory :  people  and  things  drop  out 
of  sight  everywhere,  and  masked  —  but  for 
friends.  .  .  ."  He  stopped,  ashamed  of  this 
foolish  floundering.  Meantime  she  looked  at 

[25] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

him,  so  frank  and  so  puzzled  that  the  absurdity 
of  it  all  overpowered  him. 

"Let  me  be  honest,  anyway/5  he  continued, 
laughing.  "  I've  not  the  shadow  of  any  kind  of 
business  up  here.  I  was  heading  for  Europe,  in 
general,  and  when  you  said  the  other  evening 
that  you  were  coming  up,  —  why,  I  lied  and 
came,  too.  .  .  ." 

There  fell  a  rather  long  silence.  Below  on  the 
deck,  the  black  fans  of  the  coolies  fluttered, 
brown  legs  stirred  uneasily  on  the  matting,  a 
two-stringed  fiddle  was  wailing,  and  from  be- 
hind the  ventilator-cowl  a  sing-song  voice 
chanted  an  endless  improvisation.  Metallic 
thunder  resounded  along  the  ship,  and  a  bare- 
foot Chinese  boy  pattered  past,  beating  the 
breakfast  gong  with  a  skilful,  rubbing  stroke. 

"  We've  been  good  friends  for  a  time,"  said 
Owen,  in  conclusion,  and  then  smiled.  "It's 
best  not  to  have  been  so  on  false  pretences." 

[26] 


TIME   AND    CHANCE 

The  girl  searched  him  through  with  one 
bright,  incomprehensible  look. 

"  I  think/5  she  declared  slowly,  "  that  you're 
a  very  honest,  funny  —  Boy.  Very  funny ! 
Didn't  you  see,  you  couldn't  dog  us  round  the 
world  in  this  way  ?" 

"Couldn't  I?"  he  answered  stubbornly. 

"No,"  said  Miss  Holborow.  "  My  aunt  would 
never  allow  it,  for  one  thing."  They  laughed, 
and  moved  away  towards  breakfast.  "  If  you 
hadn't  told  me  all  that  — "  she  stopped  abrupt- 
ly — "  I  knew  you  were  very  honest,  when  I 
saw  you  at  the  devil-fishes." 

When  the  ship  had  anchored  in  the  racing 
Me-nam,  and  the  howls  of  coolies  and  bumping 
of  sampans  announced  the  hour  of  disembark- 
ing, Scarlett  paid  his  farewell  compliments. 

"And  a  pleasure  for  us,  too,"  the  little  spin- 
ster-like matron  averred,  as  if  it  had  been  a 
vote,  not  wholly  of  disapproval.  "I  hope  we 

[27] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

may  happen  to  meet  again  somewhere.  No, 
many  thanks,  our  man  is  seeing  to  our  luggage. 
Good-bye,  Mr.  Scarlett." 

"  Good-bye/5  said  he,  and  answered  the  girl's 
smile ;  but  it  was  gloomily  that  he  swung  down 
on  the  forward  deck  and  picked  out  his  trunks 
from  the  heap. 

"I'm  an  ass,"  he  thought,  and  gave  almost 
savage  directions  to  the  hotel  boy. 

Near  by,  Borkman  of  the  glowing  eyes 
towered  calm  above  the  confusion.  In  cream- 
coloured  pongee,  with  a  diamond  buckle  on  his 
watch-strap,  he  surveyed  the  trunks,  choosing 
among  them  with  a  silver-mounted  stick  of 
polished  stingaree.  "Those  b'long  my,  eight 
piecee,  catchee  that  house,  chop-chop!"  he 
commanded,  giving  the  coolie  a  written  card. 

The  stingaree  rapped  down  sharply  on  the 
canvas  trunks  marked  "L.  H." 

Scarlett  stared  in  wonder. 
[28] 


TIME  AND  CHANCE 

"I  am  an  ass,"  he  repeated.  ".Never  guessed 
it,  never  asked  Her  — 9 

From  the  bridge-rail  above,  the  Captain — a 
purple,  sarcastic  cherub  in  the  pea-green  halo 
of  a  sun-helmet  —  was  forgetting  the  presence 
of  ladies. 

"Can't  you  see?"  he  roared.  "You've 
fouled  the  bloomin'  stanchion  ?  Be-george, 
you're  as  nimble  as  that  bird  they  call  the  ele- 
phant!" 


[29] 


CHAPTER  TWO 

CHITS   AND   CATS 


CHAPTER    TWO 

CHITS   AND   CATS 

Owen  let  the  launch  go  puffing  to  the  land, 
bearing  with  it  —  a  white  figure  among  the 
bow  cushions  —  all  the  good,  all  the  gain  of  the 
Orient.  He  stood  and  formed  a  plan. 

At  the  foot  of  the  bridge-ladder  he  found  the 
Captain,  mollified  by  the  happy  effects  of  epi- 
gram, oratory,  command,  and  a  stengah  with 
the  Customs  Officer. 

"  Good-bye,  sir,  I've  had  a  pleasant  voyage," 
said  Scarlett;  and  when  they  had  shaken  hands 
—  "By  the  way,  what's  wrong  with  that  fellow 
Borkman  ?  I  meant  to  ask  before  — " 

The  ruddy  little  Captain  rested  his  gaze  upon 
the  spire  of  a  distant  wot,  and  meditated,  as  if 
the  secret  were  impaled  on  the  pinnacle.  "  His 
damned  ubiquity,  for  one  thing,"  he  as- 

[33] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

serted,  in  a  voice  of  slow,  tolerant  conviction. 
Then,  as  his  glance  came  back  to  the  deck,  his 
eyes  flashed  :  "  Wrong  ?  Why,  the  fellow's  a  rot- 
ter !  A  confounded  waister  !  Shouldn't  have  al- 
lowed him  aboard  my  ship,  sir  !  What  the  devil 
do  those  ladies  let  him  tow  round  after  them 
for,  eh  ?  Biggest  bloomin'  rascal  in  the  East  — 
notorious  !  Ask  Newton  about  the  elephants  on 
his  teak  concession,  or  poor  old  Gatcomb  how 
he  lost  his  billet,  over  one  scheme.  Was  an  I. 
D.  B.  in  Kimberley  once,  they  say.  Bah!  —  " 

The  Captain  meditated  again. 

"  You  seem  to  know  them  —  nice  girl,  too 
.  .  .  Put  them  'near/  as  you  Americans  say. 
He's  working  some  squeeze  or  other  now,  mind 


Beside  them  there  bobbed  up  an  umbrella  of 
yellow  paper,  glossily  varnished,  from  beneath 
which  a  pigtailed  compradore  in  claret-coloured 
robes  peered  up  at  them  with  slant  eyes  and 


CHITS  AND  CATS 

oily  brown  smile.  The  Captain  turned  on  him 
viciously : 

"And  here's  another  squeeze!  What  do  you 
want,  eh  ?  Money,  money  —  good  God,  what 
a  world !  See  you  later,  Mr.  Scarlett.  Just  now 
we're  in  a  perfect  hurrah's  nest.  ^4r'^i  ." 

Vague  as  the  testimony  was,  it  sufficed  for 
Scarlett.  Duty  had  linked  arms  with  desire, 
and  his  heart  was  fixed.  No  rotter,  not  even  the 
mildest  waister,  should  be  allowed  to  guide  the 
Holborows  so  freely  and  flagrantly.  The  sam- 
pan that  sculled  across  the  brimming  race  of 
the  Me-nam  carried  an  indignant  champion 
and  his  luggage. 

From  the  dwindling  steamer,  the  (Saptain 
trumpeted  through  his  hands  — "  Did  me  in  the 
eye  for  Four  Hundred  Ticals ! " 

For  the  next  few  days  Owen  went  diving 
hopefully  into  the  dark  interiors  of  wots.  Whole 
afternoons  he  waited  there,  an  impatient  lover 

[35] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

blinded  with  hot  illusions,  confronting  the  mys- 
tic smile  of  the  soft-gleaming  Buddhas,  who  sit 
aloft,  forever  peaceful,  rapt  in  the  timeless 
dream  of  the  infinite.  In  courtyards,  seated 
upon  squat  Chinese  dog-lions  who  guard  the 
rolling  pearl  between  their  teeth,  he  passed  un- 
counted Eastern  hours,  while  the  breeze  rustled 
the  tamarind  pods,  and  set  the  little  golden  bells 
tinkling  along  the  temple  cornices;  till  the  level 
sunlight  stole  upward,  from  the  vermilion  flow- 
ers overhead,  to  the  threefold,  fang-pointed 
gables,  the  glistening  roofs  of  blue  and  chestnut 
tiles,  the  highest  golden  spire  of  the  prachadee. 
He  loitered  at  the  royal  stables  till  the  white 
elephants  wearied  of  saluting  him;  he  stood 
inanely  watching  the  Siamese  nobles  fly  their 
star-shaped  kites  over  the  Premane  ground; 
he  drove  sadly  along  the  empty  reaches  of  the 
King's  boulevard.  But  he  caught  no  sight  of 
aunt,  or  guide,  or  girl. 


CHITS  AND  CATS 

At  last  he  become  a  known  visitor  at  the 
counters  of  shipping-clerks,  and  between-times, 
a  solitary  sitter  in  the  hotel  garden.  He  felt  both 
silly  and  desperate;  but  at  least  that  ill-sorted 
trio  should  not  sail  down  the  Me-nam  unob- 
served. 

On  a  hot,  lonesome  day,  as  he  sat  on  the 
little  platform  which,  from  the  shade  of  high- 
arched,  breezy  almond  trees,  looks  across 
the  racing  copper  flood  to  the  teak-mills, 
he  was  roused  by  a  heavy  step  and  a  cheerful 
hail: 

"Oh,  there  you  are,  eh  ?"  Borkman,  clothed 
in  white,  resplendent  with  gold  tical  buttons, 
sat  down  and  grinned  across  the  white-painted 
disc  of  the  little  tin  table. 

"Looking  for  you  all  over,  Mr.  Scarlett," 
he  said.  "Nice  hotel  this  —  I'm  staying  at  a 
livelier  place,  though,  myself,  if  you  understand 
me.  Go  up  to  their  house  every  morning  and 

[37] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

report.  Good  fun !  Got  a  chit  here  that  ought  to 
please  you! — O  Boy,  dua  stengah,  Scotch 
and  Tansan.  Where  the  mischief  is  the 
thing?" 

He  fumbled  through  many  pockets,  his  deep- 
set  eyes  beaming  kindly.  "Miracle  what  rub- 
bish a  man  stows  away  in  his  poche.  Nice  girl 
that,  Miss  Holborow,  eh?" 

From  a  pocket-book  he  dumped  a  small  heap 
of  paper  scraps  on  the  table,  and  began  sorting 
them.  Two  or  three  he  read  smiling,  and  tore 
up.  "Drunk  again,  Giles  Borkman,"  he  com- 
mented, leniently,  to  his  alter  ego.  At  last,  seiz- 
ing a  fresh  white  envelope,  he  pushed  the  re- 
maining scraps  aside.  "There's  her  chit,"  he 
said.  "  No  need  of  your  writing.  Just  reply 'Yes* 
or  'No'  by  me  —  Here's  fortune!" 

"Fortune!"  echoed  Scarlett,  happy  and 
eager.  He  touched  the  glass  to  his  lips,  set  it 
down,  and  opened  the  letter: 

[38] 


CHITS  AND  CATS 

DEAR  MR.  SCARLETT: 

My  aunt  and  I  go  with  the  guide  to  the  ruins  at  Ayuthia 
on  Thursday  morning,  and  come  back  by  launch  in  the  eve- 
ning. If  you  can  come  too,  we  shall  be  very  glad.  The  Ad- 
mirable Bearer  will  bring  your  answer  by  word  of  mouth.  I 
hope  you  can  come. 

Yours  sincerely, 
LAURA  HOLBOROW. 

Can't  you  help  us  buy  a  Siamese  cat  this  afternoon  ?  We 
pick  up  the  A.  B.  at  your  hotel,  four  o'clock. 

"You'll  come  ?"  said  Borkman,  who  seemed 
to  have  grasped  the  situation  completely.  He 
gave  the  young  man  a  benignant  smile,  and  the 
faintest  flutter  of  a  wink, —  at  once  impudent 
and  paternal.  "  That's  good.  The  ladies  will  be 
pleased,  eh  ?"  He  rose  with  the  air  of  one  who 
ends  an  audience.  "Thursday,  then?  Train 
at  7:40,  you  know.  Right-oh!  Good-bye,  my 
boy."  And  he  swaggered  off  across  the  clean 
sand  of  the  little  garden. 

Scarlett  was  left  to  discover  that  this  pernic- 
ious waister  had  hobnobbed  with  him,  patron- 

[39] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

ized  him,  suggested  that  his  dearest  secret 
was  an  open  one,  and  yet  made  him  uncom- 
monly happy.  At  least,  while  he  read  the  note 
again,  he  could  harbor  no  ill-will. 

A  puff  of  the  cool  afternoon  breeze  sent  the 
forgotten  papers  flying  into  the  river  —  all  ex- 
cept three  bits  which  fluttered  to  Scarlett's  side 
of  the  table.  He  stopped  them  mechanically. 
One  was  a  gharri  chit,  in  marvellous  English, 
from  Nawab  Shah's  livery  stable.  The  second 
was  a  chit  from  Sin  Cheong,  "Goldsmith  or 
Curio,"  across  which  was  written  in  a  crabbed, 
boyish  hand,  "It  is  in  the  middle  one.  They 
are  following  you."  "  Sounds  like  melodrama," 
Owen  reflected,  idly.  The  third  was  a  paste- 
board ticket  bearing  tiny  Japanese  characters, 
a  telephone  address,  the  name  "Ko-Katu," 
and  a  street  number  notorious  throughout  the 
Orient. 

"  He's  a  savoury  person  for  a  guide,"  thought 
[40] 


CHITS  AND  CATS 

the  young  man,  with  indignation.  Had  it  not 
been  too  much  work,  he  would  have  formed 
moral  reflections  on  woman's  judgment  of 
character.  Instead,  he  puzzled  once  more  over 
the  situation:  "A  man  covered  with  gold  tics 
and  diamond  watch-strap  buckles  is  not  of  the 
courier  type.  What's  his  game?" 

He  found  no  answer;  and  Borkman,  when 
he  reappeared  later,  stalking  large  in  the  river- 
garden,  did  not  enlighten  him.  At  the  same  mo- 
ment wheels  rattled  in  the  road,  and  a  victoria 
drew  up  at  the  verandah-end,  with  a  flash  of 
white  through  the  sunny  leafage. 

It  was  she !  it  was  also  Aunt  Julia :  from  one, 
a  radiant,  all-rewarding  smile ;  from  the  other 
an  indrawn  chin  and  bird-like  nod :  and  Owen 
found  himself  perched  on  a  half-seat  facing 
them,  while  Borkman,  cracking  a  whip,  led  the 
way  nobly  in  a  high  Turn-Turn  cart  with  a 
Waler. 


THE  SIAMESE    CAT 

The  ponies  scampered  along  the  New  Road, 
clattered  down  a  row  of  Chinese  shops  in  Sam 
Peng,  and  out  along  the  old  city  wall,  where 
they  shied  at  an  elephant  plodding  to  his  bath. 
Scarlett  neither  marked  their  course  nor  knew 
that  they  were  in  Siam:  he  was  with  Laura 
Holborow  again,  hearing  her  speak,  meeting 
the  glance  of  those  honest  eyes  where  mirth 
lived  and  moved*  like  swiftness  playing  over 
depth.  After  an  age  of  dumb  sloth,  he  was 
restored  to  life,  to  speech,  to  joy. 

".  tr  ii.  Very  interesting  indeed,"  Aunt 
Julia  was  expounding,  "especially  to  see  and 
study  Buddhism  at  home.  With  all  their  toler- 
ant innovations,  they  seem  to  have  kept  the 
purer,  primitive  beliefs,  such  as  — " 

"Do  look!"  cried  Laura,  eagerly.  Below  the 
road  stretched  a  canal,  empty  at  ebb-tide;  and 
in  a  sampan  on  the  flat  waste  of  filthy  ooze,  a 
little  Siamese,  trousered  in  a  yellow  panung,  lay 

[42] 


CHITS  AND  CATS 

supine,  pointing  a  flute  skyward  and  blowing 
pastoral  notes.  Laughing  together,  these  two 
young  people  never  listened  to  pure  and  primi- 
tive Buddhism. 

Mrs.  Holborow  was  naturally  somewhat 
acidulated. 

"This  is  a  very  silly  expedition  that  the  guide 
has  persuaded  you  into,"  she  told  Laura.  "The 
cat  will  be  a  great  nuisance,  and  I  dare  say  a 
source  of  contagion/' 

"Oh,"  said  Scarlett  cheerfully,  "there's 
not  much  plague  or  cholera  here  now." 

"A  little  would  be  quite  sufficient,"  replied 
Aunt  Julia,  stiffly. 

Presently  their  driver  swerved  after  Bork- 
man's  whiplash  round  a  corner,  and  pulled  up 
behind  the  Turn-Turn  in  a  crowded  bazaar 
that  reeked  of  betel,  burning  joss-sticks, 
Chinese  tobacco,  frying  lard,  and  green  drain- 
age. Their  burly  guide,  scattering  ducks, 

[43] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

pariah  dogs,  and  black  sows,  dived  under  a 
monstrous  Chinese  lantern,  and  led  the  party 
into  the  dusk  and  disorder  of  a  pawnshop.  On 
his  platform  beside  a  tall  glass  case  of  silver- 
ware, a  young  Chinaman,  naked  to  the  waist, 
sat  braiding  pink  threads  into  his  queue.  He 
stared  at  the  ladies,  and  coiled  the  half -finished 
strand  about  his  neck. 

Borkman  presented  a  hieroglyphic  letter, 
which  the  pawnbroker  read  slowly  through 
horn-rimmed  spectacles,  whispering  to  himself, 
and  spacing  off  groups  of  characters  with  a 
long  blue  thumb-nail.  Meantime  the  booth 
was  penned  in  by  a  chattering  crowd,  both 
Thai  and  Hainanese,  gathered  to  watch  the 
bargain;  while  imps  of  children,  smeared  as 
with  yellow  ochre  and  dressed  only  in  heel- 
bangles  or  silver  fig-leaves,  gleefully  skipped 
in  pestilential  dust. 

The  pawnbroker  gravely  finished  the  painted 
[44] 


CHITS  AND  CATS 

scroll,  nodded,  grinned — his  mouth  gaping 
blood-red  with  betel  —  and  snarled  something 
over  his  shoulder.  A  mysterious  scuffle  rose 
in  the  back  shop,  and  presently  a  neat-bodied 
little  Luk-Chin  woman  came  clambering  over 
a  heap  of  brass- work,  hugging  three  rebellious 
cats  close  to  her  kerchiefed  breast. 

Poured  sprawling  upon  the  platform,  the 
cats  tried  vainly  to  bolt,  then  sat  ruffled  and 
indignant,  darting  side  glances  of  sullen  light. 

"Isn't  he  a  beauty  ?"  cried  Miss  Holborow. 

"Careful,"  Scarlett  warned  her.  "Don't 
admire.  Let  me  do  the  bargaining;  may  I  ?" 

"The  big  fellow  is  the  only  one  to  buy,  sir," 
Borkman  advised.  Before  the  ladies,  his 
manner  seemed  unnaturally  subdued,  his 
genius  rebuked.  "Don't  buy  the  little  ones, 
Mr.  Scarlett,  that's  all.  The  big  chap  would 
fetch  fifty  to  a  hundred  pounds  in  London,  as 
he  stands," 

[45] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

"But  the  two  small  ones  are  blue/ V  said 
Mrs.  Holborow,  forgetting  her  general  objec- 
tion in  a  particular.  "And  the  King  has  offi- 
cially declared  that  blue  cats  are.  «*•(  #|I4*| 

"Oh,  Aunt  Julia,"  cried  the  girl  reproach- 
fully, "just  see  the  other.  He's  a  dear." 

The  dear  uttered  a  "Yaow!"  of  unearthly 
volume,  and  stared  up  with  the  ice-blue  eyes  of 
a  goblin.  He  was  not  of  the  royal  hue,  but 
fawn-coloured,  with  seal-brown  face,  paws,  and 
tail,  bat-ears,  and  bristling  moustachios  of 
snow-white. 

"He  heard  me!"  said  Laura  "I  must 
have  him." 

"No  enthusiasm,"  commanded  Scarlett. 
"Let  me."  Then,  turning  to  the  Chinaman, 
who  sat  in  a  fine  oblivion,  smoking  a  Malacca 
tin  pipe  like  a  long-spouted  silver  tea-pot: 

"  Ni  teng  ha"  he  said,  and  pointed  to  one  of 
the  blue  cats.  "  Miu  chai  gi  do  ?  " 

[46] 


CHITS  AND  CATS 

"  Yit  ba  bat,"  sang  the  pawnbroker,  with 
a  quick  gleam  in  his  beady  eyes. 

"M-hai!"  Owen  laughed  in  scornful  good 
humour.  "  Ngo  gin  po  guai  a!" 

Negotiations  ceased.  Scarlett  turned  airily 
and  surveyed  the  crowd  outside. 

"What  did  you  tell  him  ?"  asked  Miss  Hoi- 
borow,  amused. 

"  I  asked  how  much  can  catchee  this  cat," 
Owen  replied.  "  He  wants  a  hundred  tics, — 
absurd:  so  I  told  him  to  Icwer  his  price.  Don't 
be  impatient." 

The  coolies  and  the  children  gaped.  One 
tall  Chinaman,  who  had  looked  feverishly 
intent,  turned  about  tactfully  to  await  the 
renewal  of  the  bargain,  presenting  an  oily 
brown  back. 

"Hallo,"  said  Owen.  "See  that,  Miss  Hol^ 
borow." 

Between  the  muscular  shoulder-blades,  in 
[47] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

Siamese  fashion,  was  tattooed  a  circular  design 
in  blue. 

"An  old  friend,  isn't  it  ?"  continued  Scarlett. 
"The  symbol  of  Creation,  the  Dual  Powers  — 
two  whales  rolled  together  to  form  the  world 
—  as  you  see  them  on  the  Korean  flag,  the 
Madura  praus,  the  Northern  Pacific  Rail- 
road, and  everywhere.  He's  not  a  Hoi-how 
boy." 

The  pawnbroker  suddenly  resumed  the 
chaffering. 

"Ni!  Nil"  he  cried  vehemently,  suspend- 
ing by  the  scruff  of  his  neck  the  fawn-coloured 
cat,  who  squirmed  and  clawed  like  a  dragon. 
"Nil  Maul  Gi  do?" 

"  M-hai,"  Scarlett  shook  his  head  indifferent- 
ly. "  M -se-rie.  No  wantchee." 

The  Chinaman  returned  calmly  to  the  blue 
"miu-chai."  And  so  the  bargain  tossed  and 
wavered,  while  the  chuckling  crowd  muttered 

[48] 


CHITS  AND   CATS 

gibes.   At  last  Scarlett  changed  his  mongrel 
speech  to  English: 

"Well/5  he  said,  "you  can  buy  the  big  chap 
for  forty  ticals.  He's  an  unusually  good  one  — 
probably  stolen.  But  before  you  close  the 
bargain,  I  must  tell  you  that  it's  a  risk:  they 
often  die  going  Home,  they're  quarantined  in 
London,  and  probably  not  even  admitted  by 
our  delightful  authorities  in  New  York." 

Laura's  face  clouded,  but  Borkman  came 
to  the  rescue. 

"It's  not  so  bad  as  that,  sir,"  he  declared 
cheerfully.  "I'll  see  to  him.  Get  him  home 
for  you  with  no  trouble  whatever  —  abso- 
lutely. If  Mr.  Scarlett  is  afraid,  I'll  buy  him 
on  my  own  responsibility,  and  you  can  get  him 
from  me  whenever  you  like,  Miss  Hol- 
borow." 

He  had  drawn  himself  up  tall,  a  bearded 
protector  of  ladies. 

[49] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

"He's  the  boy  to  carry  cats,"  whispered 
Laura  to  Owen,  behind  Aunt  Julia's  back. 
Borkman  caught  the  buzz  of  the  whisper,  and 
for  a  second  his  eye  gleamed  with  an  odd  sus- 
picion. Then  he  repeated,  amiably  —  "  It's 
quite  safe." 

"The  whole  affair  is  absurd,"  said  Aunt 
Julia.  "  We  have  too  much  stuff  already.  A  cat 
is  a  —  a  beast." 

There  was  no  gainsaying  this. 

"And  I  foresee,  Laura,"  she  continued 
gloomily,  "this  will  be  like  those  white 
rabbits  that  you  begged  so  for  when  you 
were  little,  and  that  I  had  afterwards  to 
feed." 

"Oh,  Aunt  Julia,"  laughed  her  niece,  "what 
a  memory  you  have !  But  it  was  only  for  a  week. 

99 

... 

Owen  saw  that  this  discussion  tended  be- 
side the  point. 

[50] 


CHITS  AND   CATS 

"I  may  be  wrong/'  he  admitted.  "And  if 
Mr.  Borkman  thinks  he  can  — " 

"Oh,  absolutely,"  boomed  the  courier. 
"Perfectly  simple.  It's  too  fine  a  bargain  to 


miss." 


"Then  I'll  take  him,"  declared  Laura  quick- 
ly, opened  her  purse,  and  closed  the  argument. 

The  Chinaman  grinned,  by  a  sleight  of  hand 
passed  the  bank-notes  apparently  into  his  belly, 
and  rejected  the  blue  cats  headlong  into  his 
wife's  apartment.  The  fawn-coloured  hero  sat 
staring  with  ice-blue  eyes,  haughty  and  intel- 
lectual. 

"Isn't  he  a  lordly  creature?"  said  the  girl, 
sitting  down  beside  him  on  the  platform. 
"  What  shall  I  name  him  ?  Something  that's 
big  and  dignified"  —  she  mused  —  and 
Siamese.  .  .  ." 

"Call  him  Chao  Phya,  then,"  suggested 
Owen. 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

"Good!  Just  it!"  she  exclaimed.  "Come, 
Chao  Phya!  Come  to  Missy!" 

The  new  member  of  the  peerage  stared 
coldly,  cried  an  amazing  "Yaow!"  and  sud- 
denly leapt  upon  the  girl's  shoulder. 

"There!"  she  cried  in  triumph.  "He's 
purring  already.  The  little  old  dear!" 

"Excuse  me  a  moment,"  said  Borkman, 
"  I'll  be  back  directly  —  if  you  will  please  wait 
here?" 

As  he  stepped  out  into  the  glare,  he  bumped 
against  the  tall  Chinaman  of  the  tattooed 
symbol.  "Look  out  there!"  he  snapped.  Then 
suddenly  they  saw,  from  the  shop,  his  whole 
frame  struck  by  some  change,  and  his  clenched 
fists  quiver.  The  coolie  was  slinking  away; 
and  as  Borkman  wheeled  half  about,  his  eyes 
flamed  with  rage.  It  was  a  new  face  that  they 
caught  sight  of,  and  not  a  pleasajit  one  to  re- 
member. 

[52] 


CHITS  AND  CATS 

"Out  o'  the  way!"  he  roared.  "What  thing 
you  do  here  ?  You  wantchee  catch  bamboo- 
chow  ?  Vamoose!" 

The  Chinaman  meekly  disappeared  in  the 
crowd.  Borkman  turned  and  stalked  into  a 
dark  alley  across  the  bazaar. 

"  Why  should  he  abuse  that  poor  coolie  so  ?" 
Miss  Holborow  wondered.  "I  never  saw  him 
lose  his  temper  before." 

He  was  gone  a  noticeable  time,  but  reap- 
peared all  sunshine. 

"  I  saw  a  little  curio  in  a  shop  the  other  day," 
he  announced,  smiling  down  at  them  with 
benevolent  respect.  "  I  was  reminded  of  it  just 
now,  and  —  er  —  made  bold  to  get  it,  Miss 
Holborow,  as  a  present  to  Chao  Phya.  I  hope 
he'll  accept  it." 

He  handed  over  a  silver  collar,  hung  with 
three  rather  large  bells,  fluted  cockle-shells  that 
tinkled  musically.  It  was  wrought  with  raised 

[53] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

figures  of  men  and  elephants,  in  a  maze  of 
lotus-leaves. 

"Lao  work,  from  a  bracelet/5  he  explained. 
"  It  makes  a  rather  good  collar,  and  I  had  Sin 
Cheong's  man  put  on  'Chao  Phya,'  while  I 
waited." 

Mrs.  Holborow  was  drawing  on  the  dignity 
of  an  employer: 

"Why,  Mr.  Borkman,"  she  began,  "you 
know  we  can  hardly  .  *  .... 

"We  can  hardly  thank  you  enough,"  cut  in 
Laura,  with  a  dangerous  glance  at  her  aunt. 
"It's  beautiful  work,  and  —  and  a  great  sur- 
prise. See,  it  fits  His  Highness  as  if  made  for 
him!" 

The  paternal  Borkman  beamed  on  her  as 
she  thanked  him  once  more. 

"Almost  as  well,"  he  agreed.  "And  now  if 
you  wish  to  see  that  Wat  of  the  Lotuses,  it's 
time  we  were  going." 

[54] 


CHITS  AND  CATS 

So  they  left  the  pawnbroker  braiding  the 
pink  threads  into  his  pigtail,  and  crossed  the 
viscid  drain  to  the  street.  The  light  streamed 
level  down  the  white  vista  of  shops.  Chao  Phya 
shook  his  silver  bells  in  Miss  Holborow's  lap, 
the  sais  shouted  at  the  opium  dreamers  in 
the  road,  and  they  drove  off  through  a  double 
line  of  yellow  coolies,  each  shouldering  twin 
baskets  like  scales  of  justice  and  streaming 
past  at  a  stiff-kneed,wincing  trot. 

Beyond  the  town,  the  race-course  and  the 
plains  lay  flooded  in  sunset  light,  and  the  shafts 
of  betel  palm  against  the  west  stood  black  and 
slender,  like  the  crossed  lances  of  a  crowded 
squadron.  The  sight-seers  alighted  before  the 
gates  of  Sapatomawan,  where  a  carved  and 
gilded  bridge  spanned  a  klawng  brimming  with 
great  pink  lotus  chalices,  and  broad  green 
leaves,  stiff  as  bronze-work.  When  they  had 
halted  on  the  steps  of  the  temple,  it  was  already 

[55] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

twilight;  the  bodies  of  kites  roosting  in  high 
branches  showed  dark  and  indistinct  as  clus- 
ters of  jack-fruit.  And  through  the  temple 
doors  came  an  increasing  light,  as  an  old  priest 
in  saffron  robe,  the  tiny  flame  of  a  taper  in  his 
shaking  hand,  moved  among  the  leaping 
shadows  of  the  sanctuary,  from  lamp  to  lamp, 
before  the  golden-glimmering  Buddhas. 

Even  Borkman's  voice  became  an  under- 
tone, as  he  stood  expounding  to  Aunt 
Julia  the  doctrine  of  the  Fully  Enlightened 
One: 

"The  Hinayana  church  differs  from  the 
Mahayana  on  those  points  above  all.  And  yet 
curiously.  *  *  ." 

From  a  safe  distance  behind  them,  Laura, 
stroking  Chao  Phya's  head,  pursued  a  train 
of  thought  broken  only  by  two  miles  of  space 
and  a  hundred  varied  sights : 

"  I  had  to  accept  it,"  she  whispered  to  Owen; 
[56] 


CHITS  AND  CATS 

"  and  he  meant  it  well,  but  —  why  do  you  dis- 
like him  so?" 

"  I've  said  nothing  of  the  sort/5  retorted  the 
young  man. 

"I  can  tell  you  what  you  think,"  she  replied 
from  her  meditation.  "Our  friends  here,  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Sanders,  wonder  where  we  got  him, 
I  can  see.  But  what's  wrong  ?  He  only  looks 
like  the  King  of  Spades  with  his  hair  cropped. 
And  Aunt  Julia  is  fond  of  him !"  A  moment  of 
silent  mirth  overcame  her;  then  she  looked 
grave  again.  "What  do  you  think  he's  up  to  ?" 

Scarlett  shook  his  head.  "  It's  —  it's  absurd !" 
he  said.  The  futility  of  his  vague,  hearsay 
evidence  irritated  him.  "I  only  wish  I  knew." 

"Yaow!"  remarked  Chao  Phya,  and  jingled 
his  silver  bells  in  the  dusk. 


[67] 


CHAPTER   THREE 

THE   LURKER   IN  THE  RUINS 


CHAPTER  THREE 
THE   LURKER  IN  THE   RUINS 

The  barefoot  guards  saluted  the  lordly  foreign 
bust  framed  in  the  window  of  a  first-class  com- 
partment; Borkman,  graciously  returning  the 
salute,  raised  a  heavy  black  tamarind  stick, 
tipped  with  kerbau  horn;  and  as  if  at  the 
great  man's  signal,  the  little  train  rolled 
out  from  the  station,  out  from  the  bush 
and  palm  environs  of  Bangkok,  into  the 
cool,  fragrant,  dazzled  morning  on  the 
open  plain.  With  a  parting  tally  of  tiffin- 
baskets,  he  modestly  retired  to  the  next 
compartment,  and  left  his  employers  with 
Scarlett. 

"Hello,  Chao  Phya,"  said  the  young  man. 
"I  didn't  expect  you'd  be  coming."  He  falsely 
patted  the  beast,  which  lay  on  the  leather  cush- 

[61] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

ion  beside  Miss  Holborow,  in  the  attitude  of 
a  sleepy  Royal  Bengal. 

"The  guide's  frightened  me  about  him/' 
she  answered.  "He  says  we  mustn't  let  him 
out  of  our  sight  here,  he'd  be  snapped  up  so 
quickly;  and  he  says  the  pawnbroker  may  try 
to  have  him  stolen:  it's  his  regular  trick,  to 
sell  him  again." 

"What  'he/  and  what  'him'?"  demanded 
Mrs.  Holborow,  acutely.  The  same  white  topi 
that  made  the  niece  a  young  Pallas  helmeted, 
made  the  aunt  a  grimly  sporting  zenana  mis- 
sionary. "  That's  quite  the  most  careless  and 
confused  speech  I've  ever  heard,  even  from 
you,  my  dear." 

"Now  don't  pretend,  Aunt  Julia," 
said  Laura  mischievously.  "Of  course, 
one  'he'  is  my  big  dear"  (she  hugged 
the  seal-brown  head)  "  and  the  other  is  — 
yours." 

[62] 


THE    LURKER   IN   THE    RUINS 

Aunt  Julia  smiled;  she  was  in  a  good  humour 
this  morning. 

"  You  must  confess  he  is  a  remarkable  man," 
she  replied.  "He  looks  quite  vulgar  at  first, 
but  really  shows  excellent  qualities:  well  edu- 
cated, very  respectful  —  I  begin  to  wonder 
how  we  ever  obtained  such  a  man." 

"An  unusual  chance,"  said  Owen  dryly. 
Laura  gave  him  a  look  full  of  ambiguity. 

Gradually,  as  the  heat  grew  stronger,  their 
talk  languished  into  a  silence,  drowsy  and 
companionable.  The  train  jolted  northward 
over  the  glaring  buff  plain  of  Lower  Siam, — 
once  rice-fields,  now  split  and  parched  sur- 
faces of  sheet-brick  that  wavered  through 
tremendous  heat  —  to  where,  on  the  horizon- 
line,  scorched  palms  straggled  along  an  invis- 
ible river.  Sometimes  —  beside  the  garish  box 
of  a  station,  or  by  a  clump  of  stunted  rubber 
trees  with  glossy  leaves  shining,  in  the  vast 

[63] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

scene  of  drought,  as  though  miraculously  wet  — 
the  train  jarred  to  a  halt;  set  down  from  the 
happy  third-class  pens,  little  chattering  village 
men  and  women,  to  file  slowly  away,  gay- 
breeched  in  pink  and  yellow  panungs,  and 
bearing  burdens  erect  on  cropped  heads;  then 
jolted  northward  again  in  the  growing  glare. 
Sometimes  they  passed  a  wretched  rain-pit  of 
brown  water,  brightened  by  a  half-dead  lotus, 
where  down  clay-cut  steps  clambered  the  Re- 
bekahs  of  a  dozen  thirsty  hamlets ;  or  passed  a 
small  oasis  of  wet  mud,  which  the  roar  of  the 
train  frightened  into  an  oozy  upheaval,  as  a 
smeared  and  shining  buffalo  reared  from  his 
wallow,  dripping  clods,  like  some  new-born 
beast  in  the  Miltonic  picture  of  Creation. 

Chao  Phya  and  the  three  travellers  were  all 
dozing,  when  Borkman  called  through  the 
window : 

"Your  station,  madam:  Ayuthia." 
[64] 


THE  LURKER  IN  THE  RUINS 
From  bank  to  bank  of  the  sharp-gabled  vil- 
lage they  crossed  the  copper  Me-nam,  in  a 
boat  whose  thwarts  and  roof-posts  were  pol- 
ished by  generations.  A  handsome  young  Dane, 
in  a  white  tunic,  spurred,  belted  with  a  sword, 
saluted  them  on  landing.  All  was  ready,  he 
said,  glancing  admiration  at  Laura;  he  re- 
gretted that  his  duties  prevented  him  from 
serving  them  as  guide.  And  again  the  lone  offi- 
cer saluted,  gravely,  when  they  trotted  off  on 
his  ponies,  from  headquarters  of  the  mounted 
gendarmerie. 

Borkman,  with  Chao  Phya  at  his  saddle- 
bow, led  them  along  the  silent,  stifling,  brown- 
burnt  paths  of  the  jungle.  The  split  clay  under- 
foot exhaled  heat;  the  palm  fronds  overhead 
reflected  heat;  on  either  side,  tumbling  heaps 
of  brick  —  outskirts  of  the  ancient  city  de- 
stroyed by  Burmese,  and  now  worse  racked  by 
jungle  creepers — reverberated  heat  unbearable. 

[65] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

"It's  a  perfect  stoke-hole/'  sighed  Miss 
Holborow. 

"  You  —  you  —  w- would  come ! "  gasped 
Aunt  Julia.  She  jolted  on,  flushed,  awry,  pat- 
ient, like  a  saint  enduring  the  trials  of  both 
Mazeppa  and  Abed-nego.  "  You  would  c-come, 
L-Laura!" 

"There!"  cried  the  girl  suddenly,  as  they 
swung  round  a  bend. 

Indeed,  she  was  right  to  wonder;  for  before 
them,  in  a  waste  of  fallen  walls  and  broken 
spires,  rose  the  ragged,  tree-grown,  pillared 
ruins  of  a  temple;  and  among  these,  roofless, 
throned  above  climbing  growth,  sat  the  gigan- 
tic Buddha,  outlined  by  incandescent  gleams 
of  bronze,  smiling  majestically  from  out  his 
eternal  thought.  The  walls  rent  and  overthrown 
by  the  wild  fig,  "Splitter  of  sepulchres";  the 
year-long  crumbling  of  stout  prachadees;  the 
green  bush  growing  on  the  shoulder  of  the  Holy 

[66] 


THE    LURKER    IN   THE    RUINS 
One:  all  measured  the  duration  and  marked 
the  repose  of  his  dream. 

They  were  dismounting,  when  Laura  cried 
in  a  startled  voice: 

"What  was  that?" 

"  Where  ?"  asked  Owen,  beside  her. 

"Behind  that  wall.  Some  one  dodged  out  of 
sight  —  Just  then  — " 

Owen  strode  forward,  but  saw  only  a  pair 
of  bare  feet  whisk  round  the  corner  of  a  dis- 
tant thicket. 

"  Some  native/5  he  laughed. "  He  had  a  worse 
fright  than  you." 

Borkman  had  gone  ahead  with  their  coolie. 

"Tiffin-basket  here,  I  take  it,  madam?" 
he  inquired,  returning.  At  a  glance  he  had 
chosen  the  only  possible  corner  in  the  stifled 
clearing  —  a  ruinous  archway,  under  which 
the  travellers  found  both  shade  from  the  trucu- 
lent sun,  and  a  draught  of  air,  in  faint,  hot 

[67] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

breaths,  of  scant  relief.  Their  coolie  had  hardly 
set  down  his  baskets,  before  Aunt  Julia  was 
drooping  beside  them,  propped  against  the 
ancient  wall. 

"  Well,"  she  panted,  "  this  is  a  preposterous, 
preposterous  — "  words  and  breath  failed  her. 
"I  would  not  stir,"  she  declared  feebly,  "for 
all  the  Buddhas  of  the  Five  Worlds." 

Laura  knelt  beside  her  in  some  anxiety; 
but  her  next  remark  was  reassuring: 

"  Don't  crouch  and  stare  in  that  undignified 
posture,  like  a  native !  The  time  for  any  soli- 
citude was  before  we  started  —  before  you 
dragged  me  out  on  this  preposterous  — "  Again 
she  found  no  word  sufficient. 

The  tartness  of  her  tone  made  Chao  Phya 
regard  her  gravely  with  his  goblin  eyes.  He 
stretched,  rubbed  himself  against  the  wall  in 
a  slant,  voluptuous  curve,  and  lay  down  at  the 
edge  of  the  shadow  in  the  doorway, 

[68] 


THE    LURKER   IN   THE   RUINS 

"After  tiffin  we  shall  all  be  livelier,"  said 
Owen  cheerfully.  "  It's  been  a  hard  pull  in  this 
heat." 

Borkman  was  busily  opening  the  baskets  — 
the  picture  of  a  genial  comedian  playing  at 
butler. 

The  tinkle  of  soda-bottles,  and  the  harsh 
crackle  of  dry  palm- tops  in  the  hot  breeze,  dis- 
turbed the  dreamy  noon.  Suddenly,  loose  bricks 
rattled  down  close  by  in  a  scrambling  rush  — 

"Oh,  stop  him!"  cried  Laura. 

In  the  doorway  glare,  a  pair  of  yellow  arms 
made  one  desperate  thrust,  seized  the  dozing 
cat,  and  vanished.  Owen  caught  the  flash  of  a 
muscular  back  and  the  switching  of  a  black 
queue. 

Both  men  leapt  to  the  entrance,  slid  break- 
neck down  the  steep  rubble.  But  with  a  flying 
start,  the  thief  had  ten  yards  law;  and  gaining 
their  feet  on  solid  ground,  they  saw  his  saffron 

[69] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

back  and  blue  trousers  vanish  into  a  clump  of 
bamboo.  Scarlett  plunged  through  it  next, 
Borkman  at  his  heels.  Guided  by  the  crashing 
ahead,  they  fought  their  way  as  it  were  through 
a  white-hot  furnace  stuffed  crisscross  with  dry 
stalks  and  rasping  leaves,  a  tangle  burning  to 
the  touch,  but  incombustible  and  tough  to  pen- 
etrate. 

Borkman  swerved  to  the  right. 

"  No,  no !  This  way ! "  cried  Scarlett,  and  held 
his  course,  plunging  and  tearing.  Straightway 
his  chase  grew  confused,  his  hearing  puzzled,  de- 
ceived by  twofold  sounds  of  crashing:  which 
was  the  Chinaman's  flight,  and  which  the 
guide's  pursuit  ?  He  panted  on,  blind  and  dizzy 
with  the  heat.  His  temples  throbbed  as  if  to 
burst. 

Suddenly  he  ripped  and  fell  through  into  a 
clearing,  just  in  time  to  see  Borkman  dive  into 
the  opposite  side,  well  to  the  right. 

[70] 


THE    LURKER   IN   THE    RUINS 

"  He  may  have  struck  it,"  thought  Scarlett, 
as  he  ran  through  the  open.  The  thief  could 
have  cut  across  to  any  point  of  the  compass; 
all  trails  were  now  equal. 

Nevertheless  he  pounded  across,  doggedly; 
pierced  again  into  the  smothering  jungle; 
wrestled  through  a  wall  of  thorn  bushes;  trip- 
ped, fell,  rose  again,  and  stumbled  forth  into 
another  clearing,  with  face  and  hands  bloody. 
The  futility  of  the  chase  flashed  upon  him  so 
clear  and  sudden  that  he  stopped,  swore,  me- 
chanically listened.  The  Chinaman  might  be 
hidden,  chuckling,  in  some  thicket  far  behind; 
or  far  to  their  left,  be  speeding  down  a  free 
jungle  path.  The  parched  crackle  of  palm 
fronds  continued,  sharp  as  the  rattle  of  car- 
riage wheels.  His  thorn  cuts  smarted  with  salt 
sweat.  Once  —  if  it  was  not  the  dizzy  thump- 
ing in  his  ears  —  a  strange,  gabbling  cry 
sounded,  away  to  the  right.  He  tramped  wear- 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

ily  in  that  direction ;  shouted,  listened,  shouted 
again,  but  with  no  answering  sight  or  sound. 

"Foolishness !"  he  muttered,  angry  and  cha- 
grined. "  Wouldn't  run  in  this  heat  for  twenty 
coolies  with  twenty  cats." 

Yet  when  he  had  scouted  fruitlessly  for 
Borkman,  and  through  the  bewildering  same- 
ness of  jungle  and  ruins  had  toiled  back  to  the 
archway  by  the  great  Buddha,  it  was  with  a 
downcast  face  that  he  reported  failure. 

"Lost  him,"  he  said,  gloomily.  "Stupid." 

"What  a  shame!"  said  Laura.  "You've  run 
till  you're  half  dead.  Good-bye,  Chao  Phya! 
It's  all  my  fault  for  bringing  him.  You  poor 
man  —  but  there's  blood  on  you !" 

"Thorns,"  he  explained.  "Perhaps  the 
guide  has  caught  him." 

Aunt  Julia  roused,  with  a  weary  stir. 

"  I  hope  not,"  she  said  grimly,  and  again  col- 
lapsed. 

[72] 


THE   LURKER   IN   THE   RUINS 

"Did  you  notice  the  thief?"  asked  the  girl. 
"  It  was  the  same  native  we  saw  lurking  behind 
that  wall  —  Our  guide  was  right,  wasn't  he  ? 
Chao  Phya  was  too  good  for  us  to  keep 
long." 

It  was  a  tedious  time  before  footsteps 
crunched  without  on  the  heap  of  powdered 
masonry.  Scarlett  and  the  girl  sprang  to  the 
entrance.  Red  as  with  apoplexy,  smiling, 
flourishing  his  big  tamarind  stick  in  triumph, 
up  marched  Borkman,  with  the  cat  clasped  to 
his  ample  breast. 

They  applauded,  but  he  bore  his  honours 
meekly. 

"My  word!"  he  puffed,  "that  chap  could 
run!  Yes,  Miss,  he's  safe  and  sound,  not  a 
scratch." 

"But  you're  not,"  exclaimed  Laura.  As  he 
restored  Chao  Phya  to  her  shoulder,  the  palm 
of  his  left  hand  showed  raw  and  bleeding, 

[73] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

"I  say!"  he  cried,  in  a  curious  tone  of  sur- 
prise. "  I  am  flayed  a  bit,  eh  ?" 

"  You  must  have  run  through  Mr.  Scarlett's 
thorns,"  said  the  girl. 

"Of  course!"  he  boomed.  "That  was  it. 
'Jumped  into  a  bramble-bush! '  Well,  rather!" 

He  returned  to  the  tiffin-baskets  as  though 
nothing  had  happened. 

"  Did  you  —  I  hope  you  didn't  hurt  that 
poor  thief,"  Laura  continued,  stroking  the 
ruffled  cat. 

"  Er  —  no,"  said  Borkman  over  his  shoulder, 
as  he  stooped.  "Er  —  by  Jove,  the  ice  has 
gone  futt  —  clean  melted.  I  dropped  it  in  the 
sun.  Why,  that  chap  got  away  clear,  Miss.  He 
could  run,  if  you  like.  Saw  game  was  up  — 
dropped  the  cat  —  off  like  a  shot.  This  heat, 
too,  poor  devil  —  my  word,  he  ran ! 

The  excitement  over,  he  became  once  more 
a  subdued  professional  guide  and  handy  man, 

[74] 


THE    LURKER    IN   THE    RUINS 

gravely  serving  their  tiffin  of  limp  sandwiches 
and  tepid  soda.  And  when  Aunt  Julia  had  re- 
vived, he  led  her  out,  incongruous  under  a 
wide  umbrella,  to  confront  the  Dreamer  in  the 
Ruins.  The  hum  of  explanation  came  drowsily 
to  Owen  and  the  girl. 

Their  pretext  —  of  hunting  for  small  Bud- 
dhas  among  the  rubbish  —  led  them  slowly  out 
of  ear-shot.  Prodding  into  likely  or  impossible 
corners,  happy  to  be  together,  they  encoun- 
tered awkward,  expectant  silences,  which  nei- 
ther knew  how  to  break.  From  above  crumbled 
walls,  and  parching  screens  of  jungle,  the  bronze 
face  of  the  Dreamer  smiled  with  downcast 
eyes,  as  though  they  too  appeared  in  the  illu- 
sion of  Forms,  along  with  so  many  past  phan- 
toms —  war  and  worship,  growth  and  decay, 
other  lives  and  loves  —  so  many  eager  shad- 
ows flitting  imperious  and  futile  across  this 
solitude. 

[75] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

"Aren't  we  wandering  rather  far?"  asked 
Laura.  It  was  not  the  subject  uppermost  in 
her  mind. 

"We're  not  lost,"  replied  Scarlett.  "This  is 
the  way  we  chased  the  coolie."  It  was  not  at 
all  his  uppermost  thought. 

They  dug  listlessly,  in  silence. 

"Mr.  Scarlett,"  began  the  girl  resolutely. 
"  I've  thought  over  what  you  said  aboard  ship." 

"So  have  I,"  said  Owen,  in  great  relief. 
"And  been  thoroughly  ashamed.  You're  very 
good  —  I  didn't  hope  to  see  you  again  after 
that  —  and  —  and  — " 

"It  was  rather  a  cheeky  thing  to  do,  wasn't 
it?"  Her  tone  was  cool,  her  blue  eyes  shone 
with  uncompromising  candour. 

"No  two  opinions  about  that,"  he  admitted 
ruefully.  "Just  brazen  cheek." 

To  his  surprise,  she  laughed  clear  and  joy- 
ful. 

[76] 


THE    LURKER    IN   THE    RUINS 

"That's  what  I  like.  You  don't  make  ex- 
cuses and  —  and  that,  but  just  own  up  nice 
and  squarely." 

"So  it's  all  right?"  said  Owen.  They  faced 
each  other,  radiantly.  Flies  hummed  in  the 
tense,  quivering  stillness.  "Then  I'll  do  it 
again  —  for  another  reason — " 

His  tone  was  dangerous.  Laura  started  on, 
quickly;  they  turned  the  little  promontory  of  a 
ruin;  and  what  he  wished  and  feared  to  say 
was  forgotten. 

It  was  here  that  the  flies  were  humming. 
Close  under  the  wall,  half  covered  by  vines 
burnt  hard  as  wire,  a  man  sprawled  prone  — 
the  Chinaman,  dead,  with  a  clotted  knife- 
wound  in  the  back. 

Owen  whipped  in  before  the  girl. 

"You  can't  do  anything  here,"  he  command- 
ed. "Let  me.  Wait  round  the  corner  there." 

With  a  queer  catch  in  her  breath,  she  obeyed. 
[77] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

Owen  stood  staring.  He  had  seen  violent  death 
before,  but  this  — 

Just  above  the  knife- thrust,  on  the  broad, 
sallow  back,  showed  in  blue  tattooing  the 
Dual  Powers,  the  convoluted  Symbol  of  Crea- 
tion. This,  then,  was  the  coolie  whom  Bork- 
man  had  menaced  outside  the  pawnbroker's 
shop. 

Gently,  in  a  nausea  of  repugnance,  he  turned 
the  body  over.  As  it  rolled  limply  on  its  back, 
something  scratched  his  hand.  The  queue  bris- 
tled with  long,  sharp  pins.  Oil  shone  on  the 
naked  chest.  Scarlett  whistled  thoughtfully: 
"  Came  prepared,  didn't  he  ?  Regular  burglar's 
make-up. "  The  Mongol  face,  more  inscrutable 
even  than  in  life,  gaped  at  the  blazing  sky, 
idiotic  and  daunting.  He  had  been  run  almost 
through  the  body,  pierced  as  if  by  a  lance. 

The  stout  belt-purse  had  been  half  wrenched 
away. 

[78] 


THE    LURKER    IN    THE    RUINS 

"May  as  well  be  thorough,"  thought  Owen; 
and  kneeling,  he  opened  it.  A  poor  handful  of 
silver  coins,  salungs  bent  in  some  gambling- 
house,  clinked  within;  and  among  them  lay  a 
pasteboard  ticket, —  third-class,  Bangkok  to 
Ayuthia,  stamped  with  that  day's  date,  punch- 
ed and  forgotten  by  the  guard.  He  had  followed 
them  to  these  ruins :  to  steal  a  cat,  and  meet  his 
death.  Why  ? 

Why  indeed  ?  The  thief  sprawled  among 
the  vines,  tawny  as  the  lifeless  ground,  agape, 
mysterious,  inaccessible. 

There  was  nothing  more  to  do.  Retreating 
slowly  from  the  rebuke  of  that  presence,  Owen 
turned  the  corner  of  the  wall. 

"Come,"  he  said.  They  moved  off  among 
the  ancient  mounds,  the  air  before  them  danc- 
ing in  blurs  of  heat.  The  girl  shivered  slightly, 
paused  as  for  breath: 

"  Was  it — ?  "  she  whispered.  "  Did  he  do  it  ?  " 
[79] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

"No,"  said  Owen,  as  though  she  had  named 
the  guide  aloud.  "  No,  I  hope  —  I  think 
not.  The  wound  —  you  see,  he  couldn't  carry 
such  a  weapon,  —  a  spear  or  a  long  dagger. 
Couldn't  conceal  it.  No  — " 

"Oh,  he  wouldn't  anyway! "  she  cried.  "But 
—  what  shall  we  do  ?" 

"Say  nothing  to  him,"  he  replied  slowly. 
"Report  —  gendarmerie  headquarters.  What 
else?" 

In  silence,  they  gained  the  temple  and  the 
archway.  Among  the  baskets  Chao  Phya  and 
the  coolie  bearer  dozed  together;  Aunt  Julia 
and  the  guide  were  returning  at  a  distance. 

"  Remember  —  don't  show  that  anything's 
up,"  whispered  Owen. 

It  was  a  silent  company  that  jogged  back  to 
the  living  Ayuthia.  Aunt  Julia's  one  comment 
expressed  the  general  desire:  "Let  us  go  back 
to  civilization  as  soon  as  possible."  So  Bork- 

[80] 


THE    LURKER   IN    THE    RUINS 
man  cantered  on  ahead  to  see  that  their  launch 
should  have  steam  up.  At  the  outskirts  of  the 
village  he  cantered  back  again,  calling: 

"To  your  left,  please!  We'll  ride  straight  to 
the  landing.  I  have  boys  to  take  the  ponies 
home."  He  swung  before  them  towards  the 
river. 

"Very  thoughtful,  isn't  he?"  sighed  Aunt 
Julia.  "But  we  should  thank  that  kind  young 
officer." 

"I'll  go,"  said  Owen.  He  had  already  reined 
about. 

In  the  verandah  of  barracks  the  young 
Dane  looked  up  from  inspecting  Mannlicher 
carbines.  Handsome  and  impassive,  he  saluted, 
bowed  gravely  to  the  message  of  thanks. 

"But  there's  another  matter,"  continued 
Owen.  "  Out  there  in  the  ruins  we  found  a  man 
killed,  the  dead  body  — " 

"Ah,   yes,"  interrupted   the   Dane   slowly. 
[81] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

"  That  coolie  —  We  shall  find  the  place,  thanks 
to  your  —  ah  —  most  accurate  description.  It 
is  nothing  to  retain  you  more  long,  no  ?  Some 
quarrels  of  thief s.  However,  allow  me  your 
address,  as  a  favour;  it  may  be  well/' 

"So  you  knew  already!"  cried  Scarlett. 

"Naturally."  The  young  officer  smiled. 
:<  Your  —  ah  —  courier  reported  just  since. 
He  found  the  body,  and  willed  to  refrain  alarm- 
ing the  ladies;  is  it  not?  I  go  investigate 
shortly." 

Scarlett  rode  down  to  the  river  with  his  chin 
on  his  breast.  As  their  launch  slipped  down 
stream,  in  the  level  light  that  flamed  through 
the  silhouette  bars  and  tatters  of  palm-groves, 
he  remained  silent  and  thoughtful.  Crowded 
among  cushions  at  the  bow,  they  had  no  room 
for  secrets. 

The  great  tide  turned  in  flood,  making  the 
launch  labour  slowly;  the  cool  darkness  of  the 

[82] 


THE    LURKER    IN    THE    RUINS 

East  fell  at  a  blow ;  and  the  easy  slumber  of  the 
East  at  last  overcame  the  tired  women.  Yet 
now  and  then  they  woke,  with  weary  murmurs 
of  delight,  at  some  picture  fleeting  past:  a  tug 
whipping  up-river  an  endless  string  of  rice- 
boats,  each  with  a  ruddy  fire  that  lighted 
up  the  brown  legs  of  a  squatting  circle,  and 
each  leaving  a  pungent  wake  of  cookery  and 
sour  betel;  the  bellying  whiteness  of  a  lateen 
sail,  swan-like,  unreal,  seen  and  lost  in  a  mo- 
ment of  ghostly  moonshine;  splashes  of  lamp- 
light wriggling  deep  in  the  river  pools  below 
some  floating  bazaar  or  open  house-boat, 
where,  as  if  kneeling  on  the  water,  black 
profiles  of  Chinamen  threatened  each  other, 
chattering  at  Chai-mooey,  the  coolies'  game 
of  forfeits.  All  these  passed  swiftly  in  a  dream, 
measured  by  the  monotonous,  happy  chant 
of  the  steersman,  and  heavy  with  the  per- 
fume of  acacias. 

[83] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

When  the  other  two  slept  soundly,  Owen 
leaned  toward  Borkman. 

"What  was  all  this?"  he  whispered.  His 
glance,  in  the  lantern-light,  was  hard  and 
severe.  "What  did  you  tell  them  at  gendar- 
merie headquarters?" 

"The  facts,  of  course,"  said  the  guide  read- 
ily. "  Strange  business,  wasn't  it  ?  Saw  directly 
by  Miss  Holborow's  face  that  you'd  found 
him.  Well,  that's  the  way  I  found  him,  too  — 
dead  —  and  the  cat  perched  on  the  wall.  Lied 
to  them,  obviously.  Silly  to  frighten  women 
about  it,  eh  ?  What  ?  Much  in  the  dark  as  you. 
My  dear  chap,  I'd  give  anything  to  know  — " 

The  young  man  leaned  back  again.  Perhaps, 
then,  his  thoughts  had  wronged  Borkman ;  but 
if  they  had,  what  was  all  this  tangle  ?  What 
stratagems,  what  violence,  could  centre  in  the 
absurd  figure  of  a  cat  ?  He  must  puzzle  out  the 
problem.  But  athwart  his  first  efforts  came  the 

[84] 


THE   LURKER   IN   THE    RUINS 
thought  of  Laura,  the  flutter  of  her  breathing 
beside  him,  to  confuse  and  erase  his  reasoning. 
"This  much  is  good,"  he  thought.  "If  there 
is  danger  to  her,  I'm  to  be  in  it." 


[85] 


CHAPTER   FOUR 

BLINDMAN  'S-BUFF 


CHAPTER   FOUR 
BLINDMAN'S-BUFF 

Mr.  Sanders,  a  florid  little  man,  accurately 
dressed  for  summer  evenings  in  England, 
hopped  down  from  the  Holborows'  carriage 
and  came  trotting  back  through  the  hotel  gar- 
den. 

"I  say,"  he  chirped,  "Mr.  Scarlett!  Won't 
you  come  dine  with  us  to-morrow  night  ?  Ah, 
good!  Very  glad.  Surawongse  Road.  Right! 
Good-night  again." 

And  so  their  expedition  ended.  Midnight 
had  passed,  but  Owen  had  no  desire  to  sleep. 
Calling  for  ice,  soda,  and  cigars,  he  stretched 
out  in  his  verandah  chair,  and  stared  blankly 
down  into  the  moonlit  compound.  Banana 
leaves  drooped  in  pennants  of  hoary  silver; 
the  tin  roof  of  a  go-down  shone  like  snow;  a 

[89] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

coolie,  sleeping  in  the  dust,  scowled  upward, 
with  the  shadowed  sockets  of  a  death's-head, 
into  the  pale  radiance.  Now  and  then  a  ped- 
lar's bell  clanked  faintly;  a  gust  of  laughter 
told  where  sea-captains  drank  late  under  the 
almond  trees;  or  breaking  the  charm  of  still- 
ness, a  lizard  cried:  "To-kay!  to-kay!"  in  a 
voice  dogmatic  and  hiccoughing. 

"I  can't  believe  him,"  thought  Scarlett. 
"He  seemed  plausible  there  in  the  boat,  but 
— "  Instinct  declared  the  man  a  liar;  reason 
tried  to  marshal  the  facts  both  for  and  against 
him: 

"First  of  all,  Borkman  suggested  buying 
the  cat.  That  proves  nothing,  either  way. 
Second,  he  knew  the  thief  before  —  bumped 
him  in  the  bazaar  —  and  was  not  glad  to  see 
him.  Third,  grabbing  the  coolie  by  the  queue, 
as  he  ran,  would  rip  his  hand  exactly  as  it  was 
ripped.  But  then  all  those  thorn  bushes  —  I 

[90] 


BLINDMAN'S-BUFF 

can  hardly  shut  my  own  fist.  Fourth,  Bork- 
man's  story  is  improbable.  If  an  unknown  per- 
son —  a  second  thief,  an  accomplice  —  fought 
and  killed  the  coolie,  then  why  leave  behind  the 
only  apparent  cause  of  quarrel  —  the  cat  — 
perched  on  the  wall  ?  But  he  may  have  heard 
Borkman  coming,  or  have  seen  him,  and  cut 
and  run.  After  all,  that  seems  the  most  likely 
way;  for  Borkman  could  have  no  accomplice 
stationed  out  there  to  do  the  killing,  no  such 
weapon  to  do  it  with  himself.  Fifth,  if  Bork- 
man were  the  murderer,  then  his  remark  —  'I 
saw  directly  by  Miss  Holborow's  face  * —  was 
made  when  off  his  guard,  and  explains  why 
he  reported  to  the  Dane.  Humph ! 

"If  there  had  been  a  weapon,"  thought  the 
young  man,  "  I'd  be  certain :  or  if  it  were  any- 
thing but  a  cat — " 

Muffled  hammering  at  doors  sounded  in  the 
distance,  and  the  raucous  singsong  cry  of  a 

[91] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

runner  from  the  lottery,  shouting  the  lucky 
number  for  the  night.  Dawn  was  near,  then; 
Owen  rose  wearily,  and  crept  under  his  mos- 
quito netting,  to  sleep  over  the  whole  blind 
puzzle. 

He  woke  to  find  himself  still  thinking  of  the 
courier. 

"Borkman  started  all  this  cat-pidgin;  he 
knew  where  to  buy,  had  a  letter  to  the  pawn- 
broker— "  What  a  long,  empty  day,  before 
seeing  Laura  at  dinner!  "I'll  spend  it,"  he 
decided,  "looking  in  on  this  devious  gentle- 
man's friends." 

But  even  starting  early  after  breakfast,  he 
wasted  most  of  the  morning  before  he  found 
the  pawnbroker's  shop;  and  then  was 
rewarded  only  by  the  gory  smile  of  the  betel- 
chewer,  and  a  furious  exhibition  of  undesired 
cats. 

"No  go,"  he  thought.  "This  chap  doesn't 
[92] 


BLINDMAN'S-BUFF 

savee  anything.  No  can  do,  my  friend.  Finish ! 
Put  your  beasts  back.  We'll  try  the  collar 
man."  He  entered  the  stone-flagged  alley, 
to  find  that  every  other  door  revealed  a 
goldsmith's  shop.  "Lim  Chong,  Chin 
Leong — what  was  it?  Sounded  familiar, 
too.  But  they're  all  alike.  Here  it  is  —  Sin 
Cheong." 

In  the  dusk,  on  clean  matting,  stood  glass 
cases  full  of  shining  wares.  Behind  a  lamp-lit 
counter,  a  jolly  fat  merchant  sat  clicking  his 
abacus.  He  looked  up,  nodded,  grinned.  "  Tsu 
s'n"  he  remarked  affably;  then  called  aloud 
for  his  assistant.  Through  the  rattling  strings 
of  the  curtain,  slid  a  sleek  young  Chinaman  in 
pale  green  silk  pyjamas.  His  face  was  glossy, 
keen,  guileless,  like  that  of  an  intellectual 
babe. 

4 'Ho  Kong,"  explained  the  merchant,  "He 
speakee  Ingalis,  my  no  can  do." 

[93] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

"  Good-moh  ?  ning-seh,"  chanted  Ho  Kong, 
"  I  hop  you  ?  ah  velly  well.  You  wantchee 
buy  nice  golo-smit  culio,  I  can  ?  show  you, 
seh." 

The  slant,  thick-lidded  eyes  watched  every 
movement,  as  Scarlett  peered  along  the  cases. 
In  one  corner  lay  a  silver  bracelet,  which,  but 
for  having  no  bells,  was  the  mate  to  Borkman's 
gift. 

"  How  much  is  this  ?  S'pose  you  put  bells 
on,  how  much?"  Owen  looked  squarely  into 
the  clerk's  eyes.  They  met  his  with  a  strange 
gleam,  but  not  a  curve  changed  in  the  sallow, 
infant  face. 

"Fiftee  tical,  he  velly  nice." 

"This  chap  does  savee,"  thought  Owen. 
"Fifty  —  say  that  means  twenty:  the  cat  was 
forty.  Do  men  kill  each  other  over  sixty  ticals  ?" 
Aloud  he  said  —  "Too  much.  What  price  this 
silver  casket?" 


BLINDMAN'S-BUFP 

He  bought  a  few  things,  handled  many  more, 
called  for  a  list  of  prices.  Ho  Kong  the  clerk, 
rattling  the  abacus,  jotted  down  figures  on  a 
sheet  of  paper,  which  he  folded  trimly,  and 
delivered  with  a  bow.  Then,  clapping  on  a 
rakish  Panama  hat,  he  escorted  Owen  to  his 
carriage,  and  as  it  rolled  away,  bowed  again 
in  best  European  fashion. 

"I  startled  him  about  that  bracelet/' 
thought  Owen.  "  The  writing  on  this  price-list 
looks  familiar,  too.  Where  could  I  have  seen 
it  ?  Hmm !  So  he  comes  into  the  affair,  too;  but 
what  affair?" 

The  drowsy  afternoon  lagged  by,  the  sun 
dropped  behind  the  teak-mills,  the  brown 
smoke  of  twilight  swiftly  turned  to  darkness. 
At  last  it  was  time  to  dress  for  dinner.  Re- 
turning to  his  room,  he  switched  on  the  swing- 
ing bulb  just  in  time  to  see,  on  the  back-ver- 
andah rail,  a  pair  of  green-sleeved  arms  re- 

[95] 


T13E    SIAMESE    CAT 

lease  their  clutch  and  drop  out  of  sight.  He 
ran  to  the  edge.  In  the  dim  light,  a  plump 
figure  under  a  Panama  hat  slid  down  a  post, 
and  flitted  across  the  compound  into  dark- 
ness. 

"Young  Mr.  Ho  Kong  returns  his  calls 
promptly.  Heard  me  direct  the  driver,  of 
course.  What  has  he  stolen  ?" 

The  wardrobe  door  stood  open,  a  coat  lay  on 
the  floor,  the  lock  of  his  trunk  had  been  picked, 
and  there  were  other  signs  of  recent  and 
hurried  search.  Nothing,  however,  seemed  to 
be  missing.  On  the  table  lay  a  letter,  printed 
in  English  with  a  pencil,  on  hotel  paper. 

To  HONOURABLE  ESQRE  : 

I  beg  to  inform  Your  Honour  should  be  leaving  Cat  in 
this  room  tomorrow  all  afternoons  complete  from  tiffin  till 
dark-times  and  leave  same  here  all  alone.  Cat  do  not  came 
out,  remain  all  right  very  good,  can  do  harmless.  Your 
Honour  catch  him  coming  back  inside.  Leave  cat,  enjoy 
days,  long  life  much  jade  best  wishes.  Suppose  you  do 
not,  then  some  mans  have  got  hurt  become  kill  Your 

[96] 


BLINDMAN'S-BUFF 

Honour,  become  kill  your  Honour's  girl,  yery  sorry.  I 
write  this  to  obliged  for  you  nextime. 

Yours  triily,  and  complete  servant, 

CHRISTIAN  FBI  END. 

N.  D.  Now,  suppose  you  go,  tell  another  mans  look-see 
watch  room,  no  good.  Undersigned  will  kill  Your  Honour 
I  think  all  same. 


"My  Christian  friend,"  chuckled  Owen 
grimly.  "  They  teach  them  well  at  the  missions 
—  So  unless  I  give  you  a  private  interview  with 
the  cat,  you  will  regretfully  kill  me  and — " 
he  laughed  —  "'Your  Honour's  girl/  By 
George,  I  wish  she  were !  Whatever  he  wants, 
this  chap  is  making  a  rather  silly  bluff." 

He  dressed  hurriedly,  and  after  a  short  drive, 
reached  Mr.  Sanders's  house.  Not  before  coffee 
in  the  verandah  —  when  the  ladies  were  talk- 
ing of  Home,  and  the  men  betting  whether  the 
French  would  give  up  Chantabun  —  did  he 
get  free  speech  of  Laura.  Lamps  on  a  long 
table  divided  them  from  most  of  the  company. 

[97] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

Her  first  words  out-valued  all  she  had  ever 
said. 

"I've  waited  the  whole  day  to  talk  to  you," 
she  said  guardedly;  "  Do  you  know,  I'm  getting 
—  rather  afraid." 

"Afraid  of  what  ?"  he  asked. 

Leaning  forward,  she  answered  the  question 
with  another. 

"Did  you  hear  what  Mr.  Sanders  told  at 
table,  about  our  burglar,  —  that  his  Sikh 
watchman  chased  some  one  out  of  the  com- 
pound last  night  ?  Well,  I  could  have  told  them 
more.  What  do  you  think  ?  Last  night  I  could- 
n't get  to  sleep,  after  all  that  happened  in  the 
ruins.  So  perhaps  about  three  o'clock  I  thought 
of  wandering  out  into  my  verandah  to  watch 
the  moonlight  and  find  a  breeze.  I  stepped  out 
through  the  door  quickly,  and  almost  ran  into 
a  man  —  a  Chinaman.  He  was  creeping  in, 
bent  over  —  didn't  even  stop  to  see  what  I  wasf 

[98] 


BLINDMAN'S-BUFF 

just  bounced  away  and  down  the  verandah 
stairs." 

"Plump,  was  he?"  asked  Scarlett.  "Wear 
any  sort  of  hat?" 

"No,"  she  reflected.  "Little  -- -  thin  —  bare- 
headed. He  ran  lame  but  very  fast.  At  the  front 
of  the  stairs  there,  another  popped  up,  and  both 
men  ran  off  together.  Then  a  third  jumped  out 
from  that  shrubbery.  That  was  the  only  one  the 
Sikh  saw,  for  just  then  his  turban  came  bob- 
bing round  the  corner.  He  didn't  catch  any 


one." 


"Haven't  you  spoken  of  all  this?"  whis- 
pered Owen. 

"Not  a  word.  Because  —  because  I  wanted 
your  advice  first,  somehow.  You  see,  that 
wasn't  all.  Just  before  the  Sikh  appeared,  an- 
other man,  a  European,  stepped  out  of  that 
shadow  by  the  wall."  Laura  pointed  to  a  far 
corner,  densely  blurred  with  flamboyer  branch- 

[99] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

es  and  tall  crotons.  "He  was  big,  very  tall  even 
crouching;  he  ran  forward  a  few  steps,  dodged 
back  until  the  Sikh  passed,  and  then  stood  out 
an  instant  watching.  I  can't  be  sure:  but  the 
moonlight  was  like  day,  and  he  stood  there  so 
broad,  with  his  feet  braced  apart  —  you  know 
—  yes,  like  our  courier  Borkman.  He  held  a 
sort  of  staff  in  one  hand,  and  the  end  flashed 
bluish,  like  steel  —  a  sword-blade  or  a  spear- 
head. But  you  don't  look  surprised." 

"I'm  not,"  said  Scarlett  dryly.  "Where  did 
the  cat  stay  last  night?" 

"In  my  room,"  replied  Laura.  "Then  you 
think,  too  — " 

"Had  you   always   kept    him?"   he   inter- 
rupted. 

"Why,  no,"  she  answered.  "Last  night  was 

the  first  time.  The  guide  had  always  taken  care 

of  him.  But  last  night  when  we  landed,  Mr. 

Sanders  said,  '  Bring  him  along  to  show  the 

[100] 


BLINDMAN'S-BUFF 

children  to-morrow/  I  remember  the  courier 
objected,  and  Mr.  Sanders  snubbed  him  for 
being  impudent." 

"Miss  Holborow,"  said  Owen,  gravely,  "It 
sounds  foolish,  but  I  think  it's  dangerous  for 
you  to  keep  that  beast.  The  burglars  came 
here  because  he  came.  Whether  Borkman  sent 
them,  or  whether  he  stood  on  guard  against 
them,  I  can't  tell  yet.  The  entire  affair  is  blind- 
man's-buff.  But  one  thing  I  begin  to  see: 
wherever  Chao  Phya  goes,  there'll  be  trouble." 

"I  won't  give  him  up  now,"  she  declared, 
with  the  pout  of  a  spoiled  child.  "But  we  can't 
fill  Mr.  Sanders's  house  full  of  Chinese  burg- 
lars, can  we  ?  Please  tell  me  what  to  do  ?" 

"Promise  me  one  thing,"  he  answered. 
6 'When  you  engage  passage  back  to  Singapore, 
tell  me;  and  let  me  take  the  same  steamer. 
Our  friend  the  King  of  Spades  is  not  the  safest 
of  guides.  Does  your  agreement  let  you  dis- 
[101] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

charge  him  here  ?  No :  well,  that  might  not  be 
wise,  anyway.  You  promise  ?  Thank  you  — 
Then,  let  me  take  Chao  Phya  home  to-night, 
and  keep  him.  No,  there's  no  danger,  in  a  hotel 
full  of  people.  So  that's  settled ;  and  now,  tell 
Mr.  Sanders  privately,  without  fail,  just  enough 
to  show  that  you  were  frightened  last  night. 
So  that  he'll  have  a  boy  or  two  sleep  in  your 
verandah  and  the  Sikh  on  close  watch. 
Good!" 

Mr.  Sanders  peeped  waggishly  round  the 
lamp. 

"Aha!"  he  exclaimed,  "I  thought  it  was 
very  quiet  this  side!  Mr.  Scarlett,  you've  for- 
gotten to  drink  your  stengah,  and  we're  on  the 
second.  This  is  bad !" 

Scarlett  had  man's  natural  contempt  for  cats ; 
but  as  he  lifted  Chao  Phya  to  the  carriage 
cushions,  he  felt  not  ungrateful  to  this  solemn, 
green-eyed  puzzle. 

[102] 


BLINDMAN'S-BUFF 

From  the  verandah  Aunt  Julia  called  down 
in  astonishment  — 

"Are  you  taking  him  ?" 

"Yes,"  he  laughed  back.  "Miss  Holborow 
lends  him.  A  friend  of  mine  is  anxious  to  see 
him.  In  fact,  several  men  —  Good-night." 

Just  how  anxious,  he  was  soon  to  learn.  The 
moon  still  lurked  behind  the  eastern  palm- 
groves,  the  road  was  a  gully  of  ragged  shadows. 
Once  or  twice,  as  they  rolled  along  it,  he  seemed 
to  hear  footsteps  pattering  swiftly. 

"  Hi,  gharri-wallah!"  he  called.  The  bearded 
Mohammedan  pulled  up.  "  Who  runs  behind  ? 
We  had  no  sais." 

The  driver  listened. 

"Master,    I    think    Ee-Sander   Sahib   send 


one   man/ 


But  the  sound  had  stopped.  The  carriage 
was  slowly  getting  under  way  again,   when 
some  one  dived  in  head  first  —  a  half -naked 
[103] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

Chinaman,  thin  and  feverishly  spry,  clutched 
once  in  desperation  just  as  Scarlett  swept  the 
cat  under  his  left  arm.  With  his  right  he  struck 
out  heavily.  The  man  toppled  into  the  road, 
but  rebounding  like  a  ball,  cleared  the  ditch, 
skimmed  a  hedge,  and  was  lost.  The  Moham- 
medan lashed  the  ponies.  They  had  galloped 
a  hundred  yards  before  Scarlett  discovered  that 
Chao  Phya  was  scratching  venomously. 

"By  George,  that  chap  ran  lame!"  he 
thought.  "Laura's  burglar:  they  keep  a  good 
watch.  Now  my  troubles  begin  —  but  that  one 
was  harmless  enough!" 

Under  the  lights  of  his  verandah,  however, 
he  decided  otherwise.  A  ragged  triangle  of 
leather,  wads  of  curled  hair,  flapped  at  his 
shoulder.  An  upward  stab  had  disembow- 
elled the  back  cushion.  His  fist  had  been  none 
too  ready. 

"So  Christian   Friend  was   not   bluffing," 
[104] 


BLINDMAN'S-BUFF 

he  told  himself,  when  at  last  stretched  on  his 
bed.     "  Chao  Phya,  if  you  could  only  talk ! " 

The  cat,  sitting  beside  Owen's  feet,  blinked 
sagely  at  the  night-lamp  with  goblin  eyes  of 
changing  fire.  He  yawned  hungrily,  jingled 
his  silver  bells,  then  in  slow  revolution  trod 
out  a  lair  and  curled  down  to  sleep.  Owen  lay 
wakeful;  or  dozing  wearily,  started  at  every 
flutter  of  bats  without,  every  stir  of  geckoes 
on  his  chamber  wall.  But  the  pink  mists  of 
dawn  glimmered  at  last  through  the  doors: 
nothing  had  happened. 

And  although  —  mindful  of  Ho  Kong's 
letter — he  stationed  boys  to  watch  for  prowl- 
ers, and  kept  his  room  all  afternoon,  the  hours 
dragged  by  tame  and  empty. 

" Beast!"  he  grumbled  next  day  at  tiffin. 

"This  makes  five  meals  in  my  room,  all  on 

your  account.  If  I  owned  you,  Chao  my  boy, 

I'd  stop  their  nonsense  —  wring  your  neck. 

[105] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

Keep  out  of  my  curry.  Scat !  You  and  your 
absurd  collar  both  aren't  worth  sixty  tics." 
He  examined  it  idly:  the  silver  was  thin  and 
light,  the  workmanship  curious  but  crude,  the 
three  silver  cockle-shells  —  their  edges  slightly 
parted  to  make  resonant  the  tinkling  pellets 
within  —  were  fat  and  clumsy.  "No,"  he  re- 
peated, "in  harness  as  you  stand,  Chao,  not 
sixty.  Hallo,  what's  this  ? " 

With  his  gula  the  boy  Ah  Ling  brought  in 
a  basket  of  golden  mangoes.  Mr.  San  Dass 
sent  them  by  bearer,  explained  Ah  Ling: 
"Name  card  no  have-got." 

"Sanders,  eh,"  said  Owen,  choosing  the 
most  luscious.  "He's  a  brick!  These  are 
Number  One  Gold  Chop  mangoes."  He  sliced 
one,  and  had  raised  the  first  spoonful  to  his 
lips,  when  Ah  Ling  laid  beside  the  plate  a 
letter  addressed  in  a  hand  which  drove  all 
else  to  oblivion.  He  tore  it  open  and  read: 
[106] 


BLINDMAN'S-BUFF 

DEAR  MR.  SCARLETT: 

Aunt  Julia  has  just  decided  that  we  go  by  the  "Muang- 
Fang,"  sailing  to-morrow.  The  climate  is  getting  too  much 
for  her,  and  the  King  of  Spades  urgently  advises  her  to  go. 

All  quiet  here  these  last  two  nights.  I  hope  it  has  been 
so  with  you. 

In  great  haste, 

L.  H. 

"Hurrah!"  cried  Scarlett.  Clapping  Chao 
Phya  under  his  arm,  and  leaving  both  gula  and 
mangoes  untasted,  he  hurried  down  to  his  car- 
riage. Just  as  he  had  booked  for  the  "Muang- 
Fang,"  and  was  leaving  the  office,  he  ran  against 
a  round  little  man,  tight-buttoned  in  cheerful 
flannels. 

"You  here,  too!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Sanders. 
His  red  necktie  lent  a  needless  touch  of  heat 
to  the  torrid  compound.  He  waggled  a  roguish 
finger.  "I  spy,  I  spy!  Same  steamer,  eh  ?  You 
sad  young  dog !  And  the  cat  —  now  I  call  that 
devotion,  if  you  like!" 

Owen  reddened. 

[107] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

"  I'll  try  to  look  out  for  them,  sir.  You  see — " 

"I  don't  blame  you,"  chirruped  the  older 
man.  "Never  leave  a  defenceless  aunt!  Lucky 
chap  .  .  .  Youth,  youth!" 

"And  Mr.  Sanders,"  interrupted  Owen 
stiffly,  "Let  me  thank  you  for  the  mangoes. 
They're  capital.  .  .  ." 

"Mangoes  ?"  The  little  gentleman  frowned. 
"What  mangoes?" 

"  Why,  the  basket  you  sent  me  this  noon, 


sir." 


"No  fear!"  cried  Sanders,  jovially.  "Not 
I.  I've  not  seen  a  decent  mango  this  season. 
Mangoes  ?  You're  in  luck,  but  don't  thank 
me.  .  .  .  Why,  I've  been  pining  for  them 
this  fortnight,"  he  lamented.  "You'd  have 
been  the  first,  my  dear  chap;  but  I  couldn't 
have  spared  you  a  mango  now,  if  I  had  one." 

A  sudden  idea  made  Scarlett  a  poor  lis- 
tener to  the  rest  of  the  little  man's  chat.  On 
[108] 


BLINDMAN'S-BUFF 

reaching  the  hotel  again,  his  first  act  was 
to  stuff  two  or  three  mangoes  into  his  pockets 
A  friendly  chemist  in  the  dispensary  stared 
at  his  request,  disappeared  smiling  into  a  tiny 
laboratory,  and  returned  with  a  puzzled  face, 
very  serious. 

"  May  I  ask  where  you  got  these  ?"  he  said. 
"Anonymous  friend.  ,  «*  f  «  Hmm!  Quite 
right  to  be  suspicious  .  .  .  Hydrocyanic 
acid,  squirted  full,  permeated."  He  showed, 
in  a  strip  of  the  mango  skin,  a  pinhole  punc- 
ture. "  Regular  subcutaneous,  you  see.  Prussic 
enough  to  kill  an  elephant,  sir." 

"Good.  Thank  you,"  said  Scarlett,  laugh- 
ing. "I  don't  die  to-day.  Some  Christian  friend 
will  be  disappointed." 

But  once  outside,  he  stopped  smiling,  and 

acknowledged  the  chill  that  had  touched  his 

spirit:    death,  the    unreal    and    remote,  had 

struck  short  by  a  fang's  breadth.   "It  was  at 

[109] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

my  lips!"  he  thought,  staring  downward, 
while  streets  and  shops  reeled  past  the  car- 
riage like  shapes  in  a  dream.  "I  should  be 
dead  some  two  hours  .  .  .  but  for  Laura's 
chit." 

That  night  he  changed  his  room  to  the  op- 
posite wing,  and  from  midnight  on,  paced  bare- 
foot in  the  dark  verandah.  Between  moon-set 
and  dawn,  a  black  shape  swarmed  up  the  post 
below  his  former  quarters,  vanished  within, 
reappeared,  slid  down  to  earth.  Two  other 
shadows  joined  it,  and  moved  off,  whispering, 
towards  the  river.  In  the  farthest  corner  of  the 
compound,  a  bush  gradually  swelled,  divided, 
threw  off  the  shadow-bulk  of  a  man  standing 
on  watch.  Then  noiseless,  faint,  like  the  last 
vestige  of  a  thing  imagined,  it  moved  away 
slowly  after  the  other  three.  For  a  second, 
crossing  the  smoky  light  of  the  servants'  door, 
it  focused  as  the  silhouette  of  Borkman. 
[110] 


BLINDMAN'S-BUFF 

When  the  little  "Muang-Fang"  next  day 
swung  southward  from  the  fairy  temple  of 
Pak-nam,  Scarlett  heaved  his  shoulders  as 
though  to  let  slip  all  the  burdens  of  a  troubled 
kingdom.  He  was  off,  the  Holborows  were  on 
board,  and  Chao  Phya,  by  sufferance  of  an 
easy  captain,  lay  in  his  lower  bunk.  Owen 
was  about  to  lock  him  in,  when  he  noticed 
that  the  cabin-boys  had  mixed  their  luggage. 
Among  his  bags  lay  an  unfamiliar  bundle 
of  sticks,  from  which  two  had  slipped  out  on 
the  floor.  One  was  the  big  black  tamarind  that 
the  guide  had  carried  in  the  ruins.  As  Scarlett 
lifted  it,  the  knob  of  kerbau  horn  turned 
slightly. 

"Idiot!  blockhead!"  he  muttered,  twist- 
ing and  tugging.  Something  clicked,  gave 
way,  —  and  there  in  his  hand,  sliding  from 
the  polished  wood,  shone  a  bright  sword- 
blade. 

[111! 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 
Some  one  laughed  behind  him. 
"Found  it,  have  you?" 
The  guide,  his  heavy  frame  filling  the  door- 
way, smiled  in  mockery. 


CHAPTER   FIVE 

ABOARD  THE  "  MUANG-FANG.' 


CHAPTER  FIVE 

ABOARD   THE   "  MTJANG-FANG  " 

Scarlett,  the  naked  sword  in  his  hand, 
maintained  an  uncompromising  stare.  Hostile 
silence  filled  the  little  cabin. 

"Well?"  drawled  the  guide,  at  last.  He 
combed  his  beard  with  steady  fingers.  "  Well, 
what  of  it?" 

"I  think,"  said  Owen  coldly,  "any  further 
talk  should  come  from  you." 

"Very  good.  It  will,"  replied  Borkman, 
with  a  robust  air  of  generosity.  "  No  reason 
why  it  should,  you  know.  I'm  not  accountable 
to  you.  Only  don't  look  so  damned  righteous 
and  judgmatical."  He  closed  the  door,  and 
cramped  his  great  bulk  down  on  the  lounge 
below  the  porthole.  "Come,  come,"  he 
laughed,  "  look  natural,  my  boy.  Unbend,  un- 
[115] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

bend !  Take  your  mask  off,  every  one  else  is  un- 
masked, eh  ?" 

"Gut  out  the  humour,"  replied  Scarlett, 
sheathing  the  sword  grimly.  "And  spare  me 
your  friendliness.  Straight  facts  or  nothing." 

"As  you  please."  The  guide  lighted  a  Bur- 
mah  cheroot,  and  sighed  forth  a  blue  cloud  of 
smoke.  "  Be  a  prig  if  you  like.  I  see  you're  in  a 
frightful  wax  because  I  killed  that  swine  of  a 
coolie.  But  he'd  have  done  for  me  if  I  hadn't. 
'Dilly,  Dilly,  come  and  be  killed'  —  that  does- 
n't appeal  to  me.  So  I  hit  first,  and  — '  my 
vorpal  blade  went  snicker-snack.'  As  you 
must  have  seen.  Got  the  beast  right  enough. 
Finish !  A  good  job,  too.  If  we  judge  a  man 
by  his  friends'  characters,  you  ought  to  know 
that  coolie  was  no  angel.  It's  dry  talking :  just 
ring  for  drinks,  won't  you  ?" 

Scarlett  made  no  movement. 

"Can't  stoop  to  it  eh?"  jeered  Borkman. 
[116] 


ABOARD  THE  "  MUANG-FANG  " 
"  Murderers  not  good  enough  ?  Now  look  here, 
Mr.  Virtue,  I'll  do  some  preaching  on  my  own. 
I  stuck  that  pig  because  I  had  to.  You'd  have 
done  the  same.  It  was  kill  or  be  killed.  Young 
man  — "  he  pegged  out  his  emphasis  with  a 
heavy  index  finger;  his  face  and  tone  were  can- 
did—  "young  man,  towards  you  I've  had  no 
feelings  but  the  most  friendly.  Yet  you  pull  a 
frozen  face  on  me,  and  treat  me  like  a  stage 
villain.  Actually,  I  believe  you  think  I've  plot- 
ted against  you  with  that  Chinese  gang.  No 
fear !  Why,  they've  kept  me  sleepless  for  four 
nights.  Your  mafoo  told  me  the  little  lame 
Chinaman  cut  at  you  in  your  carriage  driving 
home  from  dinner.  Well,  he'd  have  stayed  and 
finished  you  if  he  hadn't  known  that  I  was 
running  down  the  road  after  him.  And  last 
night,  when  those  three  went  gunning  for  you 
in  your  bedroom:  if  I'd  been  on  their  side 
instead  of  yours,  shouldn't  I  have  told  them 
[117] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

that  you'd  changed  quarters  to  the  other 
wing  ?  That  was  a  sensible  move,  and  gave  me 
genuine  pleasure.  Genuine,  by  Jove!  You  see 
I've  watched  you  closely,  and  as  a  friend." 

The  deep-s.et  eyes  met  Owen's  without  shift 
or  tremour.  Something  in  their  light,  as  in  the 
man's  voice,  told  that  he  could  not  be  alto- 
gether lying. 

"But  why,"  objected  Scarlett,  "why  have 
you  dragged  these  ladies  into  danger  ?" 

"Accidental,  dear  chap!"  cried  the  other 
eagerly.  "Pure  accident.  I'm  as  sorry  as 
you." 

"  Can't  know  when  you  are  telling  the  truth," 
growled  Scarlett.  "So  what's  the  use  of  ask- 
ing you  questions?" 

"Now  is  that  a  pretty  speech  ?"  complained 
the  courier.  'You've  never  tried  me.  Put 
some  questions.  Come  on." 

"  Well,  then,  what  the  devil  is  all  this  fuss  ? 
[118] 


ABOARD    THE    "  MUANG-FANG  " 
Why  do  you  chaps  poison  and  stab  people  for 
the  sake  of  a  cat  ?  " 

"Poison?"  echoed  Borkman.  He  whistled 
softly.  "  So  they  tried  that  on  you,  too.  Hmm ! 
Now  you  ask  why,  Mr.  Scarlett,  that's  a  hard 
question  —  a  complex  matter.  You  see,  this 
cat — "  He  pointed  to  Chao  Phya,  who  sat 
in  the  bunk  describing  half-circles  of  ablution 
round  his  ear,  with  a  puffy  paw  bent  like  a 
boxing-glove.  "This  particular  cat  happens 

to  be  a  kind  of  sacred  animal.  A  secret  society 

» 

Scarlett  jumped  up  and  flung  open  the  door. 

"That's  enough!"  he  cried  angrily.  "Stop 
this  baby- talk,  and  get  out !  I  can't  sit  stewing 
in  here  over  nonsense!" 

Borkman  rose  laughing.  His  opal  eyes  twin- 
kled merrily. 

"There  you  are,"  said  he.  "The  moment 
I  do  try  lying,  you  bowl  me  clean.  I'm  no  ex- 
[119] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

pert,  my  boy,  and  you're  no  fool.  Now  hon- 
estly, I  can't  tell  you  the  real  facts  just  yet; 
but  will  this  do  ?  I  prevailed  on  the  old  lady  — 
pardon  me :  Mrs.  Holborow  —  to  come  away  for 
her  health.  That  was  true,  for  the  place  was 
getting  too  hot,  in  every  sense.  We're  all  abso- 
lutely safe  now.  And  I  give  you  my  word  that 
when  we  reach  Singapore,  I'll  explain  every- 
thing. Show  you  the  whole  bag  of  tricks.  Come 
now,  that's  fair." 

They  stumbled  out  over  the  high  threshold, 
for  the  ship  had  begun  to  scend  in  a  rising  sea. 
"That's   fair,"   repeated   Borkman.    "You 
couldn't  force  me  to  say  a  word,  you  know. 
But  I  like  your  style." 

Scarlett  gave  an  unsociable  grunt : 
"Needn't  bother,  unless  it's  the  truth." 
"The  whole  truth,  when  we  land,"  replied 
the  big  man,  cheerfully.  "And  mind  you,  we're 
not  in  the  slightest  danger  now." 
[120] 


ABOARD  THE  "  MUANG-FANG  " 
This  seemed  to  be  the  case.  In  fact,  for  two 
days  Owen  found  the  voyage  dull.  On  that  first 
night,  the  growing  gale  sent  the  ladies  to  their 
cabin;  and  as  the  "  Muang-Fang "  staggered 
out  from  the  shelter  of  distant  Cambodia,  the 
grey  waste  of  the  South  China  Sea  rolled  full 
sweep  in  howling  onslaughts.  By  day,  Owen 
watched  their  slow  fight  southward  through 
whirling  rain  and  smoking  wave-crests;  by 
night,  he  see-sawed;  half-awake,  on  a  charpoy 
lashed  beneath  dripping  canvas.  Here  he  woke, 
in  a  dismal  dawn,  to  find  that  the  courier  was 
mistaken. 

A  figure  in  a  long  yellow  oilskin  coat  flapped 
by,  shouting: 

"Get  out,  ye  suar!  Below  with  you!  Can't 
speak  your  lingo,  can't  I?"  A  glistening  rubber 
boot  kicked  out  mightily.  Something  soft 
thumped  the  lower  deck.  "Pjerhaps  you'll 
savee  that!"  shouted  the  man  in  oilskin.  He 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

turned  chuckling:  it  was  the  first  officer,  a 
light-hearted  young  Anglo-Indian. 

"Morning!"  he  laughed.  "These  coolies 
are  jungli  enough,  aren't  they  ?  Think  the 
whole  goiy  ship  belongs  to  'em!  The  beg- 
gar'd  have  nosed  into  your  cabin  if  I'd  not 
caught  him." 

Scarlett  reeled  to  the  ladder-head.  The 
fallen  prowler  crawled  up  from  the  slewing 
deck,  clutched  a  hand-rail,  limped  aft  under 
the  double  awning.  His  dirty  blue  garb  was 
that  of  a  coolie,  but  his  face  the  plump  baby 
face  of  Ho  Kong,  Christian  Friend  and  gold- 
smith's clerk. 

The  courier,  then,  had  undervalued  their 
opponents. 

That  day — which,  like  all  days  without  Laura, 
dragged  through  stale,  vacant  hours  —  Scarlett 
spent  in  planning.  By  night  he  had  evolved  a 
simple  stratagem.  Deserting  his  canvas  bed  on 

rut] 


ABOARD  THE  "  MUANG-FANG  w 
deck,  he  took  to  his  cabin,  and  camped  down 
on  the  little  couch  by  the  door,  which  he 
hooked  back,  invitingly  open.  Above  his  head 
was  the  switch  for  the  light,  and  ready  to  hand 
lay  his  revolver.  Chao  Phya  slept,  tethered, 
in  the  lower  berth. 

"A  little  trap,"  thought  Owen  drowsily.  "A 
trap  for  Christian  friends,  and  Chao  Phya  as 

bait." 

i 

To  his  disgust  it  caught  nothing.  Only  one 
night  more,  and  they  would  be  in  port.  An  un- 
profitable voyage :  the  stubborn  puzzle  of  their 
situation  enraged  him;  and  except  for  in- 
quiries and  condolence,  he  had  had  no  speech 
of  Laura. 

The  last  night  wore  away,  till  something 
woke  him  from  uneasy  sleep.  The  creaking 
roll  had  ceased;  the  ship  throbbed  steadily  on 
even  keel;  and  beside  his  couch  daybreak 
glimmered  vaguely  in  the  doorway.  But  it  was 

[123] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

not  these  changes  that  had  made  him  start :  some 
other  stir  — 

He  reached  up  cautiously.  The  knob  of  the 
switch  clicked  down.  In  the  sudden  glare,  a 
kneeling  man  leapt  upright :  Ho  Kong's  slant 
eyes  blinked  at  the  black  muzzle  of  the  Webley. 
Then  both  men  sprang  for  the  door.  Just  in 
time,  Scarlett  hammered  the  butt  on  the 
shaven  forehead,  knocked  up  the  brass  hook, 
slammed  the  door.  He  had  forgotten  that  to 
Chinamen  a  gun  is  no  threat.  With  a  straight 
punch  he  sent  the  thief  whimpering  to  the 
floor:  then  from  the  forgotten  bundle  of  sticks, 
drew  Borkman's  sword  and  held  the  point 
pricking  the  naked  saffron  chest. 

"I  should  have  remembered  the  cold  steel 
pidgin  first  off,"  he  said.  "Now,  Mr.  Ho  Kong, 
speak  up.  What  thing  you  wantchee  ?  What 
thing  you  catch  inside  here  ?" 

An  anxious  twitch  wrinkled  the  baby  mask, 


ABOARD  THE  "  MUANG-FANG " 
vanished,  left  it  smooth,  cool,  intellectual. 
Pillowed  on  a  snaky  tangle  of  queue,  Ho 
Kong  stared  upward  in  blank  innocence. 
From  the  bunk,  the  cat  glowered  at  them 
both. 

"  Chop-chop ! "  growled  Scarlett.  "  You 
speakee!"  He  pressed  the  sword-point  harder, 
twirled  it  slightly. 

"Yai-eee!"  squealed  the  thief.  "Yai-eee! 
Pleasse  ik-scusse  me!  I  b'long  Chlistian  boy! 
filing  kim  off !  I  talkee  You  Honour  all  velly 
good!" 

Scarlett  maintained  his  pressure.  The  cap- 
tive writhed. 

"I-I  come  walkee  here,"  he  moaned, 
"  wantchee  catch  him  cat.  You  Honour  pleasse 
ik-scusse  me.  I  hop  you  ?  —  ah  velly  well. 
Cat  he  b'long  my  fa-tha.  You  savee  fa-tha  ? 
You  Honour  fliend  —  big  man,  Bolkoman, 
he  steal  cat.  My  fa-tha  he  talkee  my  —  "Go 
[125] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

catchee  cat,  bling  back  my  house!'  I  b'long 
velly  good  boy.  I  go.  You  savee  fa-tha  ?" 

"No  savee  your  father/'  grinned  Scarlett. 
"Haven't  the  old  gentleman's  acquaintance. 
A  filial  son,  aren't  you  ?  Now  forget  your 
father  and  give  me  the  truth."  He  pricked  a 
fresh  spot  between  the  yellow  ribs.  "You 
fashion  speakee  no  good.  No  can  do."  He 
dropped  into  Cantonese:  "Speak  the  truth,  or 
I  kill  you  with  many  cuts  and  pains.  Remove 
this  father-lie.  Tell  the  truth  quickly." 

"True  gold  fears  no  fire,"  quoted  the  pris- 
oner glibly.  "Should  Your  Greatness  transfer 
his  treasures  of  jade  to  my  hovel,  he  would 
find  there  much  wretchedness,  but  the  jewel 
of  truth." 

"Show  it,  then,  before  I  slice  you." 

'Your  Greatness  knows  I  am  a  pauper," 
gabbled  Ho  Kong,  clawing  at  Scarlett's  feet. 
"  I  am  Chlistian  boy.  I  can  speak  the  Chlistian 
[126] 


ABOARD   THE   "  MUANG-FANG  " 
language,  but  yet  I  work  for  a  few  cash  under 
the  goldsmith's  lamp.  Sin  Cheong  is  a  hard 
master.  The  big  man,  your  friend  - 

"Go  on,"   said  Scarlett.   "What  of  him? 
Borkman  is  no  friend." 

The  thick-lidded  eyes  gave  their  first  gleam 
of  interest.  The  Chinaman  sat  up,  fearlessly. 

"Good.  I  hate  him.  He  is  a  bad  man.  See 
now,  here  is  the  story.  Many  months,  two 
rains  ago,  this  big  Bolkoman  and  Sin  Cheong, 
my  master,  they  were  secretly  partners.  Your 
wisdom  foreknows  that  the  Phai-lin  mines 
bring  forth  no  good  rubies,  but  chips  and 
small  rubbish.  Very  true:  but  one  mine  at 
Phai-lin  of  late  gave  birth  to  five,  six  of  good 
size  and  value.  No  man  knew  this.  Why  ? 
Because  the  coolies  stole  them  secretly.  My 
master  and  Bolkoman,  they  bought  them  all. 
With  these  hands  I  cut  them,  and  Bolkoman 
took  them  forth  of  Siam  and  sold.  Then  one 
[127] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

night  came  a  Luk-chin  man  with  such  a  stone 
as  you  have  never  seen  —  large,  perfect  as  the 
Dragon's  Pearl,  red  as  the  blood  of  doves.  I 
lay  on  the  roof,  as  always,  and  moving  a  cer- 
tain tile,  saw  down  into  the  room  behind  the 
shop,  where  the  three  squatted  by  the  lamp. 

"The  Luk-chin  thief  would  not  loose  that 
stone  from  his  hand. 

' '  Ten  thousand  ticals/  he  said.  He  breathed 
like  a  man  in  great  fear.  And  it  was  worth 
seven  times  ten  thousand. 

"'This  is  neither  Phai-lin  nor  Krat/ whis- 
pered my  master.  'This  is  Burmah/ 

"The  Luk-chin  swore  it  was  Phai-lin,  by 
five  generations  of  his  fathers. 

"It  is  Burmah,'  said  my  master  softly;  'and 
this  man  is  a  stranger  here/ 

"  Bolkoman  knew  the  fulness  of  that  saying, 
and  reached  swiftly  and  caught  the  Luk-chin 
by  the  throat,  and  so  killed  him  without 

[128] 


ABOARD   THE    "  MUANG-FANG  " 
noise.    It  was   decorously  unknown  to  neigh- 
bours. 

"Then  my  master  took  down  from  the  cor- 
ner the  God  of  Longevity.  From  the  bot- 
tom of  the  image  they  cut  out  a  cube  of  the 
soapstone,  and  thrust  in  the  ruby,  and  sealed 
it  with  a  thin  shell  of  soapstone. 

"But  three  other  thieves  had  followed  the 
dead  Luk-chin,  and  now  they  watched  Bolko- 
man,  and  my  master,  and  the  shop." 

"Wait,"  interrupted  Scarlett.  "Was  one  tall, 
with  the  Two  Whales  tattooed  on  his  back, 
so  —  ?" 

:'Your  wisdom  includes  him,"  nodded  the 
clerk  gravely.  "Yes,  and  two  others,  Ah  Pin 
the  Flat  Nose,  and  Tau-p'ei  the  Pockmarked, 
who  is  little  and  lame.  But  your  first  man  has 
gone  —  where  ?  " 

Scarlett  nodded  in  turn.  "Borkman  killed 
him  with  this  sword." 

[129] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

The  clerk  held  up  two  roly-poly  fingers. 
"And  he  would  have  killed  me  for  the  third. 
Maskee!  These  three,  then,  hovered  close  as 
spirits,  or  the  Funiao.  Sin  Cheong,  my  master, 
has  not  left  his  shop  once.  Then  also  the  police- 
mans  would  have  searched  Bolkoman,  for 
some  other  act  of  his  wickedness,  which  is 
manifold.  So  he  sailed  away  to  the  Straits, 
leaving  my  master  to  watch  the  Burmah  trea- 
sure in  the  God  of  Longevity. 

"Within  this  month  he  returned.  He  came 
as  a  great  man,  friend  to  wealthy  women. 
May  his  house  offend  both  the  Green  Dragon 
and  the  White  Tiger!  He  bought  my  folly  for 
a  thousand  ticals,  that  I  should  steal  the  stone, 
the  dove-blood,  the  priceless.  For  my  master 
would  not  give  it  up:  ' Together  we  own/  I 
heard  him  say,  'Together  we  go  sell.  Not 
singly.'  But  he  could  not  wake  always.  So  one 
night,  in  the  time  it  takes  to  drink  a  cup  of 
[130] 


ABOARD   THE   "  MUANG-FANG  " 
hot  tea,  I  pried   it  out  from  the   image,  and 
next    day  conveyed    it    out    of    the    shop    in 
'  Ho  Kong's    eye    suddenly  turned    lack- 
lustre, his  voice  indifferent  —  "in   a   cunning 


manner." 


"  Oho ! "  cried  Scarlett  eagerly.  There  flashed 
before  him  the  memory  of  the  wind-blown 
papers  in  the  river  garden,  that  afternoon 
Laura  had  —  "Oho !  You  wrote  that!  *It  is  in 
the  middle  one.  They  will  follow  you/  Then 
the  ruby  is  in  the  middle  bell  — "he  laughed 
aloud  —  "on  the  cat!" 

"You  know  all  things!"  assented  Ho  Kong 
gloomily.  His  slant  eyes  held  a  curious  gleam. 
"Yes,  I  wrote  in  Chlistian  letters,  —  The 
middle  one." 

A  glance  at  Chao  Phya's  collar  showed  the 
silver  cockle-shells  intact. 

"Go  on,"  laughed  Scarlett.  "By  George! 
Go  on." 

[131] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

The  ingenuity  at  once  amused  and  angered 
him.  Safely  smuggled  out  of  the  goldsmith's 
shop;  stowed  in  a  place  too  incredible  for 
search,  yet  always  in  sight,  always  easily 
watched:  this  stone,  which  already  had  killed 
two  men,  had  weighted  Laura  with  unknown 
responsibility  and  danger.  A  thief  and  mur- 
derer had  made  her  his  pretext  of  respectability, 
his  stalking-horse  and  receiver.  "He  will  pay 
for  it,"  said  Scarlett.  "Go  on." 

"Then  I  asked  for  my  money!"  cried  the 
clerk  hoarsely.  "He  laughed,  this  big  man! 
He  said,  'Why  should  I  pay  you  ?  Go  ask  your 
master.  You  are  a  fool ! ' 

"  I  saw  this  was  true.  First  I  thought,  "I  will 
go  kill  myself  on  his  door-step/  But  he  does 
not  fear  the  evil  spirits:  he  would  only  laugh. 
Then  I  thought  'He  shall  not  have  the  ruby/ 
So  I  told  the  Pockmarked  and  the  other  two. 
The  tall  coolie,  you  say,  he  killed,  But  we 


ABOARD  THE  "  MUANG-FANG  " 
three  followed  the  stone  everywhere.  Four 
times  we  tried  to  kill  you,  wishing  the  stone, 
and  thinking  you  Bolkoman's  friend.  Pleasse 
ik-scusse  me.  That  is  all.  Now  if  you  kill,  push 
quickly." 

In  the  silence,  they  could  feel  the  slower 
throb  of  the  engines,  could  hear  the  slush  of 
water,  the  heavy  dragging  of  hose,  the  patter 
of  the  Malays  scrubbing  deck. 

"No,"  said  Scarlett,  at  last.  "Listen,  Ho 
Kong.  The  stone  belongs  to  a  dead  man,  who 
stole  it.  It  is  no  man's  jewel.  This  liar,  he  has 
given  it  in  the  middle  bell,  to  —  to  My  Hon- 
our's girl.  Good:  she  shall  keep  it.  Write  on 
this  card  your  name  and  house.  It  is  no  trick. 
Fear  nothing.  Write." 

The  clerk,  crouching,  scrawled  painfully 
against  a  bulkhead. 

"Good,"  said  Scarlett.  "You  have  set  me 
above  this  breaker  of  bargains.  Now  I  shall 

[133] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

make  him  the  fool.  He  shall  not  see  the  stone 
again ;  and  if  it  is  as  you  have  said,  I  shall  send 
your  thousand  ticals  to  the  Hongkong  bank 
in  Bangkok.  You  deserve  only  the  bastinado; 
but  this,  perhaps,  will  square  my  con- 
science towards  the  dead  man."  He  opened 
the  door.  "Now  go,  and  never  again 
come  before  me,  for  next  time  I  also  should 
kill." 

Silent,  placid,  the  clerk  slipped  through 
the  door  and  flitted  aft.  Owen  turned  to  the 
cat. 

"  Chao  Phya,  if  what  that  fellow  said  is  true 
'  He  stooped  to  examine  the  middle  bell. 
This  fat  shell  of  fluted  silver  might  contain  a 
treasure.  But  the  fastening  held  strongly,  the 
collar  was  locked  on.  "Borkman  has  the  key," 
thought  Owen.  He  could  not  bend  or  break  the 
bell  off,  and  the  narrow  slit  showed  only  some- 
thing that  joggled  and  tinkled,  and  that  might 
[134] 


ABOARD   THE   "  MUANG-FANG  " 
be  pebble,  or  ruby,  or  child's  marble.  "  I  must 
get  a  silversmith  to  file  it  off." 

He  screwed  home  the  shutter,  locked  his  door, 
and  ongoing  to  breakfast  hired  a  Malay  to  stand 
guard.  The  ship  lay  anchored  in  Singapore 
harbour;  on  their  port  hand  rose  the  city.  The 
flat  stretch  of  Collyer  Quai,  the  low  billows 
of  arsenical  verdure,  slept  cool  and  silent;  but 
sunrise  tipped  the  pale  Memorial  tower,  and 
the  signal  masts  on  the  hill. 

Beside  the  breakfast  table,  already  being 
laid  on  deck,  Mrs.  Holborow  and  Laura  stood 
facing  their  guide,  —  all  three,  from  heel  to  hel- 
met, rigid  with  anger. 

"That  will  do!  That  is  quite  sufficient!" 
snapped  Aunt  Julia,  her  voice  trembling  like 
a  plucked  bow-string.  "  Mr.  Scarlett,  will  you 
please  —  Good-morning  —  will  you  please  see 
us  to  our  hotel  presently,  or  at  least  to  the 
Johnston  Pier  ?  And  kindly  inform  this  —  this 
[135] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

t 

man  that  he  is  not  to  address  me  again.  His 
wages  we  shall  leave  at  the  hotel  office." 

"Damn  the  wages!"  roared  the  guide. 
"Look  here,  do  you  think — " 

Scarlett's  face  was  suddenly  within  an  inch 
of  his  own.  Both  men  were  dangerously  pale. 

"You  heard  your  orders,"  said  the  younger. 
"Or  shall  I  repeat  them,  Mr.  Jeweller?" 

The  deep-set  eyes  contracted  evilly,  met 
Scarlett's  in  a  mutual  menace.  Without  mov- 
ing them,  the  courier  spoke : 

"Very  well,  Miss  Holborow.  Now  I  under- 
stand. Let  your  young  man  keep  him  for  you. 
He'll  be  sorry." 

Owen's  arms  tightened,  drew  slowly  up  from 
his  sides.  Borkman  wheeled,  and  marched 
away  aft. 

"Oh,  the  — wretch!"  cried  both  women  to- 
gether. Laura's  cheeks  flamed.  Her  aunt  first 
broke  the  awkward  silence. 
[136] 


ABOARD   THE   "  MUANG-FANG  " 

"That  cat  has  been  our  bane,"  she  declared 
with  energy.  Then  answering  Owen's  look, 
"  Laura  said  that  you  should  have  charge  of 
him,  and  this  —  this  fellow  became,  became  — 
Oh,  he  dared  speak  so  to  us !  Laura,  this  ridicu- 
lous beast  of  yours  — " 

Her  lips  narrowed  into  a  line  of  precision. 

"It  shall  trouble  us  no  more,"  she 
asserted.  "Hereafter,  I  shall  look  to  it  my- 
self." 

"But  Mrs.  Holborow — "  began  Scarlett. 

"Not  a  word,  please !"  Aunt  Julia  bowsed 
her  chin  taut  home.  "Let  us  drop  this  subject 
here.  The  cat,  if  we  keep  it,  is  in  my  charge." 


CHAPTER   SIX 

THE  LADY  FROM  MAURITIUS 


CHAPTER   SIX 

THE   LADY   FROM   MAURITIUS 

At  breakfast,  the  captain's  presence  forbade 
explanation ;  and  three  times  in  the  shore-going 
sampan,  Aunt  Julia  herself  forbade  it  in  good 
set  terms.  Clasping  Chao  Phya  beside  her 
on  the  thwart,  she  sat  as  upright  as  her 
parasol. 

"But  I  must  tell  you,"  urged  Owen  desper- 
ately. "You  don't  know  the  risk.  That  cat's 
collar  has  a — " 

"  Our  luggage  is  all  that  I  need  trouble  you 
about,"  she  interrupted,  frowning.  "Please 
understand,  Mr.  Scarlett,  that  unless  this  silly 
and  unfortunate  subject  is  dropped,  I  shall  be 
seriously  displeased." 

Her  frigid  air,  her  careful  choice  of  words, 
and  above  all  a  stealthy  glance  from  her  niece, 

[141] 


THE    SIAMESE   CAT 

warned  him  that  this  prim  little  matron  could 
prove  a  Tartar. 

"Have  it  your  own  way,  then,"  he  reflected. 
"  Whatever  else  happens,  I  must  keep  in  favour 
at  court." 

It  amused  him  to  think  of  what  a  secret  she 
had  robbed  herself.  On  the  other  hand,  he  was 
chafing  for  a  look  inside  Chao  Phya's  middle 
bell.  Neither  in  sampan  nor  in  gharri  could  he 
pass  the  word  to  Laura;  and,  hardly  were  they 
alighted  at  their  hotel,  when  hateful  strangers 
encountered  them,  and  hailing  the  Holborows 
as  old  friends,  carried  them  off  in  a  victoria. 

Owen,  left  alone  once  more,  with  directions 
to  forward  their  trunks  to  the  strangers'  house, 
watched  that  victoria  depart,  and  found  it, 
from  twinkling  wheels  to  jingling  chains,  from 
snowy  turbans  to  polished  hoofs,  a  needless 
and  loathsome  apparition. 

His  instructions,  however,  he  followed  faith- 
[142] 


THE   LADY   FROM   MAURITIUS 
fully;  and  when  leaving  the  courier's  pay  with 
the    Eurasian    clerk,    ordered    that    whoever 
might  call  for  it  should  not  be  told  the  where- 
abouts of  the  Holborows. 

Next  day,  coming  back  to  his  room,  he  found 
Borkman  seated  in  his  best  long-chair,  smok- 
ing calmly,  though  with  an  aspect  black  and 
lowering. 

"I  like  your  cheek,"  began  Owen;  but  the 
other  leapt  upright  and  opened  fire: 

"Don't  give  a  hang  what  you  like.  I've  come 
here  to  ask  you  just  one  question.  Where's  the 
cat,  or  where's  my  property  ?" 

"In  my  keeping,"  replied  Scarlett  promptly. 
"Stowed  safely  where  you  won't  see  either 
of  them." 

"Knew  you'd  say  that,"  sneered  the  courier. 

"Now  listen.  If  you  know  as  much  as  you 

appear  to,  you'll  know  enough  to  give  up  that 

—  that  thing.  Leave  it  for  me  at  the  Chartered 

[143] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

Bank  by  to-morrow  noon,  or  whoever  has  it  will 
be  —  in  a  mess,  that's  all!" 

"  That's  all,  then,"  assented  Scarlett.  "  Good- 
day." 

"I'm  not  joking,"  began  Borkman. 

"Nor  am  I.  Do  you  remember,"  asked  Owen, 
"what  happened  in  that  club  at  Cebu  ?  It's 
going  shortly  to  happen  in  this  doorway,  un- 
less you  go." 

Scowling  piratically,  the  courier  looked  back 
over  his  shoulder  from  the  threshold:  "I've 
served  fair  notice.  Don't  imagine  I'm  tamely 
going  to  give  it  up  to  that  little  flapper  of  yours. 
She'd  better  look.  .  .  ." 

Scarlett  ran  two  steps  towards  him,  and  shot 
out  his  right  foot  with  the  skill  of  an  old  drop- 
kicker.  It  would  have  scored  an  accurate  goal. 
With  a  shout  of  rage,  the  big  man  wheeled; 
but  Scarlett's  guard  was  up,  and  at  that 
instant  a  squad  of  newly  arrived  Dutch  plan- 
[144] 


THE   LADY   FROM    MAURITIUS 
ters  waddled  round  the  corner  of  the  veran- 
dah. 

"Won't  take  you  on  to-day,  my  boy!" 
laughed  Borkman  ostentatiously.  "Some  other 
time  we'll  fight  it  out,  eh?  Chin-chin!" 
He  swaggered  off,  waving  gay  farewells  be- 
fore the  staring  audience  of  Batavian  crop- 
heads. 

This  episode  made  Owen  far  more  cheerful. 
The  kick,  though  he  knew  it  had  only  fur- 
ther enraged  an  enemy,  left  him  aglow  with 
satisfaction.  It  was  pleasant,  also,  to  know 
that  Borkman  considered  him  still  the  guar- 
dian of  Chao  Phya. 

He  deferred  his  note  of  explanation  to  Laura : 
"no  need  yet,"  he  decided,  "of  stirring  them 
up."  The  courier's  threat  he  disregarded;  and 
the  next  day,  with  the  appointed  noon,  passed 
in  tranquil  succession  of  black,  splashing  show- 
ers and  aching  glare. 

[145] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

On  the  second  morning,  however,  as  he  lay 
smoking  in  the  main  verandah,  a  Chinese  boy 
brought  news  at  which  his  heart  leapt.  A  lady 
wished  to  see  him :  and  wild  hope  told  him  it 
might  be  Laura. 

On  reaching  the  carriage  archway,  he  found 
a  strange  face  smiling  at  him  from  the  gharri 
window.  A  pretty  and  alluring  face, —  even  to 
his  disappointed  vision :  Italian  in  the  darkness 
of  the  cheeks,  Parisian  both  in  the  quickness  of 
the  black  eyes  and  in  the  pointed,  piquant  con- 
tour, it  was  lively  and  mischievous  as  a 
kitten's. 

"Is  zees  Mr.  Scarlett?"  she  asked,  with  a 
smile  at  once  dangerous  and  engaging.  As  she 
leaned  forward,  the  stranger  showed  trim, 
youthful  shoulders,  and  one  sleeve  of  her 
shapely  white  jacket,  ringed  with  the  black 
band  of  perfunctory  mourning. 

"My  friend  Mrs.  Hol-bo-row,"  laughed  the 
[146] 


THE   LADY    PROM   MAURITIUS 
stranger  merrily.  "  She  has  sent  me  to  ask  a  so 
fonny  question !  It  is  zees :  'Haf  you  ze  cat  ?'  Is 
not  zat  droll !  'Haf  you  ze  cat  ? ' 

"Has  she  lost  him  already  ?"  cried  Owen  in 
consternation.  Next  instant  he  could  have  bitten 
off  his  tongue.  Suppose  this  joyful  young  wom- 
an had  come  from  Borkman  ?  Her  next  words, 
however,  reassured  him. 

"No,  no!"  Her  laugh  was  a  mere  delight. 
"  Zat  is  a  miss-take.  You  must  pardon  me.  My 
home  is  not  long  in  Singapore,  but  many  years 
in  Mauritius.  I  spik  ze  English  tongue  so  ver' 
badly.  But  see.  I  vould  not  haf  said  —  'Haf  you 
ze  cat?'  I  vould  say  'Vill  you  ze  cat?'  Zat 
is  it." 

She  handed  him  an  open  envelope. 

"Here  is  Mrs.  Hol-bo-row's  letter.  But  I 
must  ask  you  first,  it  sounded  a  so  fonny  ques- 
tion!" 

Owen  drew  out  the  letter: 
[147] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

DEAR  MR.  SCARLETT: 

I  have  a  favour  to  ask  of  you.  Will  you  kindly  take  charge 
once  more  of  this  wretched  pet  of  Laura's  ?  It  seems  foolish 
to  ask,  but  recent  events  make  me  think  it  really  unwise  for 
us  to  keep  it. 

We  are  spending  the  day  with  Mrs.  Fargueil,  who  will  give 
you  this  note,  and  who  joins  us  in  begging  that  if  possible  you 
will  come  to  tiffin  with  us.  Laura  and  I  have  much  to  say 
to  you,  especially  in  explaining  the  apparent  absurdity  of  our 
request. 

Yours  sincerely, 

Flamboyer  Villa,  JULIA  HOLBOROW. 

Thursday  Morning. 

"You  vill  come  to  ze  tiffin  ?"  begged  Mrs. 
Fargueil,  smiling  radiantly.  "  Ah,  zat  is  so  naice ! 
I  send  zees  carriage  for  you,  a  little  after  noon." 
Her  parting  glance  was  so  lustrous  as  to  border 
on  coquetry. 

"That  is  a  gay  bird  for  Aunt  Julia  to  flock 
with,"  thought  Owen.  "Glad  she's  getting 
reasonable,  at  last,  about  Chao  Phya.  I  wonder 
what  has  happened  ?  "  The  more  he  studied  the 
letter,  the  more  plainly  he  saw  that  Aunt  Julia 
had  had  a  fright. 

[148] 


THE  LADY  FROM  MAURITIUS 
The  carriage  called  for  him  promptly,  in 
such  a  drenching  equatorial  downpour  as  made 
him  keep  the  shutters  closed.  Between  the  slats 
he  could  catch  glimpses  only  of  pink  roads 
flooded,  pools  lashed  with  upward-leaping 
drops,  and  now  and  then  the  stout  sallow  calves 
of  a  rickshaw  coolie  splashing  past  on  the  jog- 
trot. He  was  nearing  the  outskirts  of  the  city, 
in  the  general  direction,  as  he  guessed,  of 
the  impounding  reservoir,  when  the  carriage 
swerved  between  gate-posts,  followed  the  long 
curve  of  a  drive  thick-set  with  dripping  shrub- 
bery, and  stopped  beneath  the  white  arches  of 
a  verandah.  Substantial  but  damp-stained, 
Flamboyer  Villa  —  to  judge  from  a  hurried 
glance  —  stood  in  a  dense  little  wilderness  of 
tropical  greenery.  A  white-bearded  durwan, 
Biblical  in  robes  and  turban,  salaamed  gravely 
at  the  foot  of  the  stairs. 

Owen  mounted  gaily,  hoping  to  see  Laura  at 
[149] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

the  head;  but  the  verandah  was  empty.  A 
table  with  a  tray  of  bottles  stood  near  the  rail. 
Except  for  this  and  a  few  rattan  chairs,  the 
place  was  meagrely  furnished ;  the  pillars  were 
patched  with  rusty  mould;  and  missing  the 
swing  of  the  punkah,  Owen  looked  upward  to 
find  the  bare  ropes  dangling. 

"Pardon  ze  ap-pear-anee,"  said  a  soft  voice 
behind  him.  The  lady  from  Mauritius,  smiling 
mischief,  stepped  forward  into  the  verandah. 
"  It  is  all  in  ver'  great  des-ordre,  is  it  not  ?  Ve 
are  pre-paring  for  ze  paint.  What  a  mees-er- 
able  r-rain!  You  vill  haf  a  pahit  ?  "  She  mixed 
the  gin  and  bitters  skilfully.  They  drank  to- 
gether, the  lady  pledging  with  coy,  Jonsonian 
eyes. 

"Oh,  I  am  forgetting,"  she  cried  in  arch  dis- 
may. "Mrs.  Hol-bo-row,  she  spiks  wiz  you 
before  ze  tiffin." 

With  what,  in  Anglo-Saxon  glances,  would 
[150] 


THE   LADY   PROM   MAURITIUS 
have  been  an  ogle,  she  led  Scarlett  within  the 
house  again,  and  held  aside  the  curtain  from  a 
doorway. 

"In  here,  please/'  she  cooed.  "Mrs.  Hol-bo- 
row  comes  directly.  Pardon  ze  darkness  —  zese 
mees-er-able  clouds!" 

She  vanished  with  a  look  which  made  the 
young  man  consider.  "By  George,  she  is 
pretty!  But  if  she  weren't  Aunt  Julia's 
friend,  I'd  say  she  almost  made  eyes  at 
people." 

He  stumbled  into  a  chair.  The  room  was 
black  as  midnight,  damp,  and  airless ;  he  could 
neither  see  nor  feel  the  stir  of  any  punkah. 
Gradually,  as  he  sat  in  this  funereal  darkness, 
the  two  windows  glowed  brighter,  till  a  faint 
yellow  gleam  told  of  sunshine  without:  faint, 
because  heavy  green  reed  curtains,  barred 
with  wide  vertical  stripes,  thickly  veiled  both 
windows.  Through  them  glimmered  the  white 
[151] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

columns  of  the  verandah,  a  few  slim,  vermilion 
shafts  of  sealing-wax  palm,  and,  on  the  trees 
that  gave  their  name  to  the  villa,  broad  bur- 
geonings  of  arterial  red. 

He  waited  a  long  time.  The  sepulchral  air  of 
the  room,  the  dead  silence  marked  by  the  tiny 
scratchings  of  lizards  on  the  plaster,  disquieted 
him  strangely.  "Aunt  Julia  takes  her  time/' 
he  thought.  The  more  his  eye-sight  cleared  in 
the  dusk,  the  less  inviting  loomed  his  sur- 
roundings. The  few  draperies  lighted  by  the 
dim  glow,  took  on  a  tawdry  look;  the  knick- 
knacks  were  common  Japanese  bazaar  stuff ;  and 
the  scragged  plants  stood  in  Chinese  pots  of  the 
cheapest  ware.  From  the  table  he  caught  up  a 
paper  to  flap  as  a  fan.  The  frontispiece  looked 
familiar;  the  heading  ...  it  was  a  Graphic 
nearly  two  years  old. 

Misgivings  seized  him :  something  was  wrong 
with  this  house.  His  watch  showed  that  he  had 


THE   LADY   FROM   MAURITIUS 
waited  half  an  hour.  He  stepped  towards  the 
entrance,  pulled  aside  the  curtain,  and  bumped 
against  a  smooth  door  of  heavy  teak- wood  — 
closed  and  locked. 

Disgust  was  his  chief  emotion :  he  had  proved 
such  an  easy  fool.  "This  charmer  from  Maurit- 
ius," he  thought  savagely,  "first  she  pumped 
me,  then  had  me  walk  into  her  parlour  —  or 
Borkman's.  I  wonder  what  for  ?  —  especially 
as  the  windows  are  open." 

He  crossed  the  room,  thrust  sharply  outward 
at  the  heavy  reed  "  chicks,"  and  nearly  broke  a 
finger.  What  had  seemed  vertical  bands  on  the 
curtain  were  iron  bars,  newly  set  in,  with  all  the 
neat  solidity  of  Chinese  workmanship.  Even  as 
he  rose  from  a  vain  attempt  to  loosen  them,  past 
the  window  glided  the  noiseless  figure  of  a 
brown  Malay,  from  whose  waist-knot  stuck 
the  handle  of  a  kriss.  It  was  a  stout  trap,  and 
well  watched. 

[153] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

Vexed  with  surmise,  he  went  back  to  his  chair 
and  waited.  Borkman,  it  was  plain,  had  worked 
methodically.  "First  he  claps  me  in  jail  here. 
What's  the  next  move  ?"  Evidently  it  would  be 
against  the  Holborows.  In  vague  and  conflict- 
ing anxiety,  he  outwatched  the  drowsy  after- 
noon. 

At  last  the  floor  above  creaked  stealthily. 
In  the  upper  chamber,  voices  murmured. 
Without  a  sound,  Owen  climbed  on  the  table, 
stood  upright,  listened. 

"But  he  is  just  below!"  expostulated  a 
sprightly  voice.  The  lady  from  Mauritius  had 
lost  her  foreign  accent.  "It  will  not  do." 

"Have  to,"  grumbled  a  surly  bass.  It  was 
unmistakeably  Borkman.  "Do  you  suppose 
.  .  .  afford  to  hire  every  villa  in  Singa- 
pore ?  .  .  .  must  be  in  here.  Where  else  ? 
.  .  .  Nonsense  .  .  .  Let  him  shout, 
then  ...  no  one  within  quarter  of  a  mile 
[154] 


THE   LADY   FROM   MAURITIUS 

troublesome,  I'll  jolly  soon  stop  his 
mouth  *  V  .  And  another  thing,  Justine, 
.  .  .  do  the  respectable  better  than  you 
did  .  .  .  I  saw  you  .  .  *  can't  stop 
making  eyes  at  the  men  ,  .  t,  .  No!  rot 
.  .  .  I  tell  you  it  must  be  in  here.  .  .  . " 

The  grumble  died  away;  furniture  grated 
lightly  along  the  floor  just  over  Scarlett's  head; 
then  cautious  footsteps  departed. 

The  voices  had  sounded  so  clear  that  Owen 
looked  up  involuntarily;  and  now  for  the  first 
time  he  saw  that  the  discoloured  whiteness  over- 
head was  no  plaster,  but  a  ceiling-cloth  stretched 
taut  over  the  beams. 

"  Hello ! "  he  muttered,  "  if  only  ,  *  .  It's 
a  bare  chance."  Whipping  down  from  the 
table,  he  seized  the  tallest  chair  in  the  room  — 
a  solid  piece  of  Chinese  carving,  cheaply  inlaid 
—  and  lifted  it  to  the  table.  Then  climbing  upon 
this,  and  gripping  a  loose  end  of  punkah-rope 
[155] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

that  dangled  from  a  hook,  he  slashed  away  with 
his  big  clasp-knife  two  good  square  yards  of 
cloth.  The  cross-beams  showed,  over  two  feet 
apart.  Enveloped  in  trailing  strips  of  mouldy 
cloth,  he  stabbed  upward  at  the  floor-boards; 
then  grunted  in  disappointment,  for  the  knife- 
blade  stopped  short  in  seasoned  wood,  hard  as 
iron. 

"Take  all  night  for  it,  then,"  he  thought, 
and  jabbed  again  and  again,  doggedly. 

Suddenly  the  blade  ran  up,  as  through  cheese, 
the  hilt  jarred  softly  home,  and  left  his  hand 
powdered  with  dry  dust.  "White  ants!"  he 
whispered,  rejoicing.  A  few  slashes  carved 
out  a  long  meandering  slit  from  beam  to  beam. 
The  rest  held  firm,  but  here  was  a  lucky  start. 

Peering  up  through  the  hole,  he  could  discern 

only  obscure  light,  beneath  some  smooth,  dark 

surface  which  he  could  not  explain.  He  paused 

for  breath,  tangled  his  left  wrist  thoroughly  in 

[156] 


THE    LADY   FROM   MAURITIUS 

the  punkah-rope,  and  began  to  whittle  along 
the  slit.  Stubborn  shavings,  one  by  one,  fell  past 
him  to  the  floor.  Sweat  coursed  down  him,  from 
forehead  to  ankles. 

Night  came  on,  but  still  he  worked  steadily, 
fingering  the  invisible  edges.  At  last  he  could 
feel  that  of  one  wide  board  there  remained 
only  a  strip  at  either  side.  These  he  was  about 
to  risk  the  noise  of  breaking,  when  the  crunch 
of  carriage  wheels  sounded  in  the  driveway, 
brisk  feet  mounted  the  stairs,  and  to  his  dismay 
voices  murmured  overhead,  as  if  at  the  door  of 
the  room.  A  bright  shaft  of  lamplight  slanted 
down  through  the  gap,  and  then,  to  the  creak 
of  footsteps  that  seemed  to  trample  the  very 
edges  of  the  hole,  became  unaccountably  ob- 
scured. 

"  It's  all  up,"  he  thought,  and  hung  by  the 
wrist,  waiting  in  despair.  The  sounds  again 
retreated, —  the  neat  tread  of  a  single  pair  of 

[157] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

feet,  though  in  his  confusion  he  had  seemed  to 
hear  two  persons  entering.  He  waited  anxiously. 
At  the  long-forgotten  memory  of  hanging  thus 
on  straps  in  crowded  cars,  he  felt  a  foolish 
desire  to  laugh. 

Presently  the  carriage  wheels  crunched  away 
again  into  the  distance.  The  chamber  above  re- 
mained silent.  Nothing  happened.  Half  an 
hour  must  have  passed. 

"  Here  goes,  anyway/'  he  decided,  and  tugged 
at  one  of  the  whittled  edges.  It  snapped  faintly, 
splintered,  came  down.  He  waited,  then  pulled 
at  the  other,  which  broke  with  an  alarming 
crack.  Cutting  his  wrist-rope,  and  seizing  the 
new  borders,  he  swung  like  a  gymnast,  kicked 
violently,  and  with  a  wrench  of  muscles  surged 
up  through  the  hole. 

A  sharp  blow  on  the  head  dazed  him.  Some 
one  gave  a  little  shriek.  He  rolled  over,  expect- 
ing the  next  stroke  of  the  same  bludgeon  to 
[158] 


THE    LADY    FROM    MAURITIUS 
brain  him,  and  found  himself  a-sprawl  beneath 
a  table  on  which  a  lamp  still  dangerously  tot- 
tered. 

Bolt  upright  in  a  chair,  as  if  Medusa  were  to 
make  a  formal  call,  Aunt  Julia  glared  at  him 
with  a  Gorgon  face  of  unbelief  and  wrath.  She 
was  the  first  to  break  their  frozen  stupefaction. 

"Please  explain,  Mr.  Scarlett.  Why,  after 
writing  that  incomprehensible  letter,  why  have 
you  kept  me  waiting  while  you  lurked  under  a 
table?" 

"I  —  I  came  up  through  the  floor,  you 
know,"  he  stammered,  prostrate  and  guilty. 

"Then  your  conduct  is  even  more  incred- 
ible." The  little  matron  bristled.  "If  you  are 
given  to  practical  jokes  .  .  . 

"Ssh!"  warned  Scarlett,  regaining  at  once 
his  feet  and  his  presence  of  mind.  "  Please  whis- 
per!" 

"  I  shall  do  nothing  of  the  sort,"  she  declared, 
[159] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

in  clear  tones  and  penetrating.  "Whisper  in- 
deed! Unless  you  have  taken  leave  of  your 
senses,  you  will  explain  everything  at  once." 

"Please,  please,"  whispered  Owen  implor- 
ingly, "not  so  loud.  It  isn't  safe.  What  did  I 
write  to  you  ? " 

"  This,  of  course,55  replied  Aunt  Julia.  With 
an  air  of  patient  contempt,  she  drew  from  her 
pocket  a  letter.  He  darted  with  it  to  the  lamp. 
A  good  imitation  of  his  own  handwriting,  it 
begged  Mrs.  Holborow  to  meet  him  that  eve- 
ning at  Flamboyer  Villa,  to  discuss  privately 
"a  matter  of  the  gravest  importance.55  He 
skimmed  it,  frowning.  "Every  reason  to  be- 
lieve .  .  .  serious  danger  to  you  and  Miss 
Holborow  .  .  .  cannot  explain  in  writ- 
ing .  .  .  absurd  as  it  may  seem,  abso- 
lutely imperative  that  you  bring  the  Siamese 
cat  .  .  .  shall  send  my  gharri  for  you 
promptly  .  .  .  under  no  circumstances 
[160] 


THE   LADY   FROM   MAURITIUS 

mention  this  to  any  one  .  .  .  not  respon- 
sible for  consequences  .  .  .  The  signa- 
ture, "Owen  Scarlett,"  was  a  capital  forgery. 

"Where  is  he  ?"  asked  the  young  man. 

"Who,  please?"  inquired  Mrs.  Holborow, 
with  the  same  cold,  weary  patience. 

"The  cat,"  he  explained.  The  word  stung 
her  into  animation. 

"That!"  she  exclaimed.  "Really,  that,  Mr. 
Scarlett,  was  a  length  to  which  I  could  not  go. 
No  cat,  or  other  dumb  animal,  could  be  neces- 
sary for  any  discussion  whatsoever.  It  was  folly 
enough  to  come  here  at  all." 

"You  left  him  behind?"  cried  Scarlett  in- 
cautiously. "Good!  Good!"  With  joy,  he  pic- 
tured Borkman  raging;  but  on  the  heels  of  that 
thought  followed  another  which  startled  him. 
Borkman  would  not  give  up  so  easily  —  and 
Chao  Phya  was  now  with  Laura. 

"We  must  get  out  of  here."  He  spoke  with 
[161] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

curt  conviction.  "  I  never  wrote  this  letter.  The 
man  you  discharged  has  concocted  it.  He 
brought  me  here  first,  by  forging  this  note  from 
you." 

With  a  growing  flush  at  her  outraged  identity, 
Aunt  Julia  scanned  the  invitation  to  tiffin. 

"No,  indeed,"  he  assured  her.  "Of  course 
you  never  wrote  it.  It  fooled  me,  however.  They 
locked  me  into  the  room  below,  to  keep  the  coast 
clear  for  deceiving  you.  I  broke  jail  —  there ! " 
He  pointed  to  the  pool  of  darkness  under  the 
table.  "Borkman  is  a  dangerous  man,  and  his 
next  move  he'll  make  against  your  niece.  The 
carriage  drove  off  immediately  after  you  came 
—  without  Chao  Phya.  We'd  best  make  for 
home  at  once  —  if  we  can  get  out.55 

"  By  all  means,55  replied  Aunt  Julia.  Though 
her  flush  gave  way  to  pallor,  she  rose  quiet  and 
ready,  a  prim  little  mistress  of  her  feelings. 

Their  captors  had  counted  on  bewilderment, 
[162] 


THE  LADY  FROM  MAURITIUS 
in  a  lonely  house  of  unknown  environs,  to  keep 
the  second  prisoner  secure;  for  the  room  was 
not  so  much  as  curtained  from  the  long  corri- 
dor. They  stole  out,  crept  down  the  stairs,  stop- 
ped, gave  ear  to  the  dead  silence,  crept  down 
again  safely  to  the  verandah  floor.  By  the  newel- 
post  sprawled  a  Malay,  drugged  with  sleep. 
Through  the  bare  hall  a  cool  evening  draught 
bullied  the  flame  of  the  hanging  lamps;  the 
strip  of  matting  rose  along  the  floor;  except  for 
the  sedate,  humdrum  figure  of  Aunt  Julia,  their 
escape  recalled  the  flight  of  the  fabled  lovers  on 
Saint  Agnes'  Eve.  Down-stairs  again  to  the 
doorway  they  stole,  past  another  sleeping  Ma- 
lay, and  so  out,  free  of  the  arches,  free  of  the 
dim  lamplight  on  the  gravel.  .  .  . 

A  voice  shouted,  —  the  durwan  was  giving 

the  alarm.  "Run!"  cried  Scarlett.  He  caught 

the  swish  of  reefing  skirts,  and  there  beside 

him  bounded  Aunt  Julia,  with  the  speed,  if 

[163] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

not  the  grace,  of  Atalanta.  They  raced  to- 
gether through  the  blurred  shadows  of  tropic 
starlight.  As  the  ghostly  form  of  the  gate-post 
shot  behind,  a  hard  patter  of  bare  feet  followed 
them,  gaining. 

The  highway,  overarched,  ran  to  their  left  as 
black  as  a  tunnel.  To  their  right,  far  off,  the 
orange  radiance  of  a  street  lamp  lighted  a  dim 
fringe  of  theatric  green.  He  seized  his  com- 
panion, swung  her  over  the  ditch,  and  pinning 
her  against  the  outer  face  of  the  compound 
wall,  whispered  fiercely:  "Quiet!  Let  them 
pass  us!" 

Three  shapes,  breathing  hard,  swept  by  to- 
wards the  light. 

"Now,  then!"  he  whispered;  and  facing 
about,  led  the  way  into  the  darkness  opposite. 
They  stole  ahead,  stopped,  listened,  hurried 
on  again,  caught  suddenly,  to  the  right,  another 
distant  gleam,  and  plunged  towards  it,  down  a 
[164] 


THE  LADY  FROM  MAURITIUS 
soggy  lane.  Already  they  could  see  the  black 
column  of  the  lamp-post  and  the  flat  shine  of  a 
broad  road,  when  once  more  the  pursuing  feet 
pattered  down  the  lane  behind  them.  Spurting 
headlong,  the  two  emerged  on  a  broad,  well- 
lighted  road.  A  stone's  throw  along  it,  like  a 
row  of  stationary  fireflies,  twinkled  the  lanterns 
of  a  rickshaw  stand.  Instantly  the  two  nearest 
rickshaws  wheeled  out,  came  trundling  to  meet 
the  fugitives.  The  coolies  dropped  their  brass- 
bound  shafts;  Scarlett  lifted  Aunt  Julia  to  one 
seat,  and  shouting  "Scott  Road!"  swung  into 
the  other;  then,  as  the  coolies  caught  their  bal- 
ance and  jogged  off,  he  saw,  over  his  shoulder, 
three  Malays  dart  from  the  mouth  of  the  lane 
and  stand  at  fault. 

It  was  pleasant  —  with  the  grateful  breath 
of  motion  cooling  his  cheeks- —  to  jog  home- 
ward down  the  humid  vista  of  overhanging 
foliage,  or  under  the  starry  marvel  of  open  sky. 

[165] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

Yet  Owen's  thoughts  tugged  forward.  If  Laura 
should  be  safe,  then  their  luck  held.  If  not  — 
but  he  clenched  his  fists  against  that  uncer- 
tainty. 

Beside  the  gate  into  which  their  coolies 
veered,  stood  a  carriage.  Through  the  window, 
as  they  spun  past,  Owen  saw  the  white  figure 
of  a  single  occupant.  Next  moment  he  had 
leapt  from  the  rickshaw  and  run  forward;  for 
towards  them,  down  the  carriageway,  his  eyes 
green  fire  against  their  lanterns,  raced  Chao 
Phya,  back  arched,  tail  hoisted,  like  a  galloping 
monkey.  The  beast  wavered,  stopped,  crouched, 
dodged,  and  with  long,  stealing  steps  began 
to  slink  aside  to  the  croton  shadows.  Owen 
caught  him  up,  and  sprinting,  forged  alongside 
Aunt  Julia's  rickshaw. 

In  the  road  ahead,  at  the  verge  of  the  lan- 
tern glow,  a  bulky  white  shape  struggled  to  rise 
from  the  gravel.  Above  it  a  smaller  man,  with 
[166] 


THE  LADY  FROM  MAURITIUS 
an  underswing  outrageously  swift  and  violent, 
struck  twice  and  thrice,  seemed  to  wrench  his 
fist  away,  turned.  The  slant  eyes  of  Ho  Kong 
blinked  at  the  nearing  lights.  Then  the  blade  of 
his  knife  gleamed  as  he  dived  into  black  leafage. 
The  kneeling  figure  lurched  to  its  feet,  rose; 
and  in  a  drunken  stagger  Borkman  reeled  past, 
his  white  tunic  badged  with  blood. 

"  Giles !  Giles ! "  screamed  a  woman's  voice  at 
the  gate. 

Scarlett,  transfixed,  stared  into  the  darkness, 
turned  to  speak,  and  found  the  rickshaw  coolie 
trotting  on  as  though  nothing  had  occurred. 
He  overtook  Aunt  Julia  at  the  carriage  steps, 
in  time  to  hear  Laura  call  from  the  stair-head 
— "Why,  there  she  is!  Where  have  you  been 
all  this  time,  Auntie?" 

"Here,   quick!"  he  panted.   "Take  Chao 
Phya!  Quick!  I  must  go  see  what  happened." 

"What  was  it  ?  What  was  it  ?"  begged  Aunt 
[167] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

Julia,  hugging  the  cat  with  a  frantic  tension. 
His  dragon  squirming  seemed  to  recall  her  to 
herself. 

"I  shall  not  alarm  Laura,"  she  whispered. 
"Come  soon  and  tell  me  —  everything."  He 
was  rushing  away,  when  she  recalled  him. 
"Oh,  please!  Please,  without  fail,  get  passage 
for  us  on  the  earliest  steamer  possible  —  yes, 
Colombo  —  to-morrow,  any  day,  the  sooner 
the  better.  Fve  had  quite  enough  of  this  — " 

Owen  was  off,  running,  to  the  gate.  No  one 
was  there;  the  carriage  had  gone;  well  down  the 
road  echoed  a  rumble  and  a  clatter.  He  recap- 
tured his  rickshaw  and  gave  chase;  but  though 
the  coolie  bounded  along  at  a  flying  stride,  the 
ponies  drew  steadily  away,  and  after  many  cor- 
ners, disappeared. 

Next  morning  he  learned  that  a  German 
mail  steamer  would  sail  for  Colombo  that  af ter- 

[168] 


THE  LADY  FROM  MAURITIUS 
noon.  By  furious  despatch,  he  managed  to  get 
himself,  the  Holborows,  and  all  their  belongings 
safely  on  board.  Beside  him  at  the  rail  stood 
Laura,  dressed  —  as  when  they  first  met  before 
the  tank  of  the  devil-fish  —  in  blue  and  white. 
Her  colouring,  in  the  level  glow  of  sunset,  was 
radiant;  and  her  eyes  danced  with  provocation. 

"Why,"  she  asked  wickedly,  "did  you  dash 
away  so  last  night  ?  And  why  is  Aunty  so  mys- 
terious ever  since  ?  Where  had  you  two  been 
disporting  yourselves?" 

"It's  a  long  story,"  he  laughed,  "and  a 
strange  one.  I'd  have  told  you  to-day,  but  didn't 
see  either  of  you  except  in  this  rush,  and  before 
people.  Masked  we  have  the  whole  voyage  for 
telling  it."  He  could  not  have  helped  the  rejoic- 
ing in  his  tone.  "  A  good  long  voyage.  But  it  all 
begins  with  the  cat.  By  the  way,  where  is  he  ?  I'll 
show  you  something  he  has  —  a  present  for 
you." 

[169] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

Through  the  orderly  bustle  of  departure, 
Aunt  Julia  approached  along  the  deck. 

"Where's  Chao  Phya?"  called  her  niece. 
"  Mr.  Scarlett's  going  to  —  " 

In  Aunt  Julia's  voice,  as  in  her  look,  vexa- 
tion strove  with  guilt. 

"I  have  settled  it,"  she  announced.  "These 
impudent  officers  forbade  me  to  keep  him  with 
us.  That  was  the  last  straw.  I  gave  him  to  the 
cabin-boy  to  take  ashore." 


[170] 


CHAPTER   SEVEN 

THE  CAT'S  HOLIDAY 


CHAPTER  SEVEN 

THE   CAT'S   HOLIDAY 

Chao  Phya  was  revelling  in  his  liberty.  Drop- 
ped on  the  quay  by  a  cabin-boy  who  had  no 
time  to  find  buyers  or  drive  bargains,  he  had 
fled  zigzag  through  a  labyrinth  of  hurried  and 
hostile  shins.  Wherever  coolies  were  not  too 
busy,  rapacious  arms  had  swooped  at  him,  but 
these  he  readily  dodged.  At  the  dock-gate  a 
small,  red-queued  Straits  boy  fell  on  him  clever- 
ly, and  held  hard;  but  kicking  with  science, 
scratching  the  chubby  arms,  he  fought  loose, 
wormed  between  the  little  baba's  trousered  legs 
hopped  over  his  fat  white  soles,  and  raced  down 
the  wide  street.  A  coal-black  Tamil  dropped  his 
shovel  with  a  clang,  and  gave  chase;  but  flesh- 
less  Dravidian  legs  could  not  wobble  fast 
enough.  Presenting  to  all  pursuers  a  tail  up- 

[173] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

lifted  above  the  humping  gallop  of  stiff  hind- 
legs,  Chao  Phya  gained  the  safe  reaches  of  an 
empty  road. 

Here,  under  the  lee  of  silent  go-downs,  he 
trotted,  with  a  faint  tinkle  of  silver  bells;  then 
gradually  slackening  his  pace,  sauntered  free 
and  proud  as  one  of  his  great  jungle  cousins. 
The  sunset  coolness,  premonition  of  congenial 
night,  prompted  him  to  frisk.  For  pure  wan- 
tonness, lie  hopped  upon  the  high  threshold 
of  a  warehouse,  caressed  the  iron  doors  in  a  long, 
luxurious  glide,  hopped  down  again  to  stretch 
and  wallow  slantwise  through  a  patch  of  pack- 
ing-straw, then  gambolled  across  the  road  for  a 
tiger  pounce  on  a  dried  sirih  leaf  that  stirred 
along  the  curb.  The  whim  of  neatness  seized 
him  next;  and  sitting  doubled  upon  himself, 
he  had  begun  to  lap  his  fawn-coloured  flanks 
with  a  curled,  heraldic  tongue,  when  the  sud- 
den rush  of  footsteps  set  him  off  again,  galloping. 

[174] 


THE  CAT'S  HOLIDAY 

Down  an  alley  of  shops,  that  smelled  delic- 
iously  of  mature  fish  and  frying  ducks,  he  frol- 
icked in  the  spirit  of  holiday.  The  threatening 
feet  still  pounded  the  flagstones,  but  more 
faintly  in  the  distance.  This  fitful  flight,  this 
easy  escape,  was  such  a  lark  as  — 

In  the  very  nick  of  exultation,  a  pair  of  white- 
swaddled  legs  darted  across  the  path,  dark  fin- 
gers gripped  him  behind  the  ears,  and  an  oily, 
grinning  black  man,  in  a  tinsel-broidered  skull- 
cap, swung  him  into  a  dim-lighted  shop.  He 
thumped  the  matting  like  a  landed  fish,  fighting 
gamely.  Acrid  smoke  filled  the  air,  diffusing 
in  spirals  above  a  blossom  of  red  coal  that  grew, 
tall-stalked,  from  the  fat,  gleaming  brass  belly 
of  a  hookah. 

Suddenly  he  was  hurled  through  a  narrow 

door,  which  slammed  behind  him.  In  this  new 

prison    there   was   nothing   likable  —  a   dirty 

charpoy,  a  few  dishes  around  a  brazier,  a  box 

[175] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

or  two.  All  the  smells  were  insipid  or  unprom- 
ising. Angry  voices  filled  the  shop,  without.  No, 
the  place  was  not  comfortable.  Chao  Phya  be- 
gan leaping  for  the  tiny  window  cut  through  the 
split  bamboo  of  the  rear  wall.  It  was  very  high : 
he  fell  back,  leapt  again,  clawed  his  way  up- 
ward, fell  back,  persevered  in  leaping  and 
scratching.  .  .  . 

Had  maledictions  any  force,  Chao  Phya 
never  would  have  lived  to  do  this;  for  Scarlett, 
racing  in  pursuit,  had  panted  them  so  long  as 
he  could  spare  the  breath.  Trusting  in  the  in- 
variable delay  of  steamers,  he  had  —  to  the 
amazement  of  Laura  and  her  aunt  —  sprung 
down  the  gangway  and  across  the  docks.  Fresh 
hope  had  changed  to  fresh  rage,  as  he  saw  that 
crouching,  fawn-and-seal-brown  imp  thread 
uncaptured  among  the  chattering  natives,  wrig- 
gle from  under  the  Khek  urchin,  outstrip  the 
Tamil,  and  at  last  —  so  nearly  taken  unawares 
[176] 


THE  CAT'S  HOLIDAY 

at  his  toilet  —  gallop  free  down  the  alley."  Back 
aboard  ship/'  Owen  had  told  himself  after 
each  failure;  and  as  often,  disgust  at  losing  the 
sole  reward  for  all  their  trouble  and  danger, 
goaded  him  to  another  last  attempt.  "Just  once 
more,"  he  was  saying;  as  if  fortune  agreed,  he 
saw  Chao  Phya  caught  up  by  the  native  in  the 
dhoti. 

Into  which  shop  they  disappeared,  as  he  ran 
nearer,  he  could  not  be  certain;  for  that  end  of 
the  lane  proved  a  small  colony  of  Bengalis.  But 
beneath  the  sign  "  Gobind  Dass,  Pinwallah  of 
Calcutta,"  the  slamming  of  a  door  gave  him 
pause. 

"  I  want  that  cat,"  he  panted,  to  a  dim  figure 
that  squatted  by  the  pulsing  coal  of  the  hookah. 
"He's  mine.  Quick!  Hand  him  over!" 

Gobind  Dass  rose  and  salaamed  in  the  bitter 
smoke.  Smiling,  fawning,  he  submitted  to  the 
Sahib  that  there  was  no  cat.  How  should  there 

[177] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

be  a  cat  ?  See,  there  was  nothing  in  this  shop  — 

"Five  dollars,"  cried  Owen.  "Come !  Hurry !" 

The  Pinwallah  of  Calcutta  reconsidered  the 

possibilities.  Perhaps  his  neighbor  Nabook  had 

seen  the  cat,  —  perhaps  stolen  one,  for  Nabook 

was  a  bad  man.  He  would  go  $ee.  Ten  dollars, 

however,  would  hardly  make  Nabook  restore 

any  possible  cat  — 

But  just  then,  while  Owen  fumed,  he  heard 
a  thin,  silvery  jingle  within.  "Oh,  zoolum!" 
cried  the  shopkeeper:  what  violence  and 
stronghand !  for  Owen  had  shoved  him  aside, 
plunged  through  the  smoke,  and  torn  open  the 
door  of  the  inner  chamber. 

Brown  hindquarters  and  a  ruffled  tail  strug- 
gled over  the  edge  of  the  little  window,  and  van- 
ished. 

For  the  first  time,  Scarlett  paused  to  reason. 
To  give  up,  —  if  Ho  Kong  had  told  the  truth 
—  was  to  renounce  all  sight  of  a  fabulous  trea- 
[178] 


THE  CAT'S  HOLIDAY 

sure.  On  the  other  hand,  he  had  already  been 
lured  so  far  from  the  docks,  that  now,  run  as 
hard  as  he  might,  the  odds  were  he  would  miss 
the  steamer,  lose  Laura,  and  have  to  show  for 
it  not  even  a  jewel. 

"Make  sure  of  this,  anyway,"  he  thought,  ex- 
asperated. "  Gable  her  at  Colombo  —  catch 
them  on  the  way  Home."  And  wrenching  open 
the  back  door,  he  ran  out.  In  the  dusk,  through 
rancid  effluvia  of  Asiatic  cooking,  he  sped  after 
a  small,  furtive  shadow  that  flitted,  with  tan- 
talizing ease  and  swiftness,  between  disorderly 
skeleton  lines  of  half- woven  baskets. 

It  scuttled  round  the  corner,  into  a  noisy 
street.  Already  the  giant  lanterns  glimmered 
before  Chinese  shops,  like  swinging  fire-bal- 
loons inscribed  with  symbols  red  and  black; 
already  the  double  file  of  rickshaws,  streaming 
past  with  a  faint  wooden  rattle  and  a  "slap- 
slap"  of  flat  soles,  bore  their  jogging  lights,  as 

[179] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

of  stretched  concertinas  holding  glow-worm 
fire.  Evening  gossips,  squat  on  their  haunches 
along  the  curb,  broke  into  ripples  of  laughter, 
as  the  red-faced  young  European  panted  by, 
hot  and  scowling,  at  the  heels  of  a  worthless  cat. 
The  laughter  rose  to  a  cackle  when  Owen,  gain- 
ing, stooped  and  snatched,  to  miss  by  a  hand's- 
breadth,  while  Chao  Phya  again  hoisted  tail 
and  loped  away  in  terror. 

The  chase  spread  merriment  thus  for  a  fur- 
long or  two,  the  cat  loitering  and  spurting  with 
diabolic  humour.  Even  British  blue-jackets, 
racing  their  rickshaws  against  each  other,  cheer- 
ing, and  flogging  the  coolies  with  their  canvas 
hats,  found  time  to  grin,  wave  passing  encour- 
agement, or  shout  satirical  advice:  "Stern 
chase,  guvnor!"  .  .  .  "Ooray!"  .  . 
"Salt  on  'er  tail!"  .  .  .  "Stole  away!" 
.  .  .  "Well  run,  puss!"  .  .  . 

Chao  Phya  led  by  some  thirty  yards.  But 
[180] 


THE    CAT'S  HOLIDAY 

suddenly,  before  a  white-washed  building,  a 
burly  little  man  in  sailor's  clothes  jumped  be- 
fore him,  blocked  him  with  a  ready  foot,  and 
scooped  him  up  handily.  At  the  same  instant 
Owen  slipped  and  fell  headlong;  struggling  to 
his  feet,  dazed  and  muddy,  he  saw  the  man 
turn  into  the  doorway. 

Though  the  verandah  lights  had  shone 
brightly  down,  the  stairs  within  were  dark. 
Chao  Phya's  new  captor  tramped  overhead. 
As  Scarlett  stumbled  upward,  a  faint  light 
shone  somewhere  on  the  floor  above,  and  a 
roaring  bass  filled  the  house : 

.     .     .     meeserable  sinnerr  when  Tm  soberr, 
But  Tm  awfu\  awfu9  happy  when  Fm  fou  I 

An9  Fm  fou,  the  noo, 

Absolutely  fou, 

But  I  adorre  the  country  I  was  borrn  in  I 

Me  name  is  Jock     .     .     . 

The  bang  of  a  door  shut  off  both  light  and  song. 

[181] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

Scarlett  limped  along  the  corridors,  sighted 
the  bright  slit  of  a  threshold.  His  knock  was 
lost  in  a  smothered  uproar  of  applause.  He 
opened  the  door,  and  went  in. 

Among  blue,  filmy  layers  of  cigar-smoke,  the 
strong  glow  of  unshaded  lamps  lighted  the 
faces  of  a  ruddy,  laughing  company:  men 
lounging  in  unbuttoned  tunics,  or  bare-armed 
in  their  cinglets,  filled  both  room  and  verandah. 
All  watched  a  jovial  giant  who  stood  swaying 
on  a  battered  billiard-table,  rolling  his  griz- 
zled head  with  the  gusto,  real  or  feigned,  of 
drink.  The  singer,  responding  to  his  encore, 
bellowed : 

I've  jist  com9  frae  a  weddin9  9r  a  funeral, 

9R  a  chriss9enin9  9r  a  somethin9-o9-th9-Tcind.     .     .     . 

At  a  corner  table,  apart,  Owen  spied  the 
burly  little  man  of  the  doorway.  He  held  be- 
neath a  lamp  the  rebellious  body  of  Chao  Phya, 
and  seemed  to  study  the  silver  collar.  Skirting 
[182] 


THE  CATS  HOLIDAY 

the  chairs,  unheeded  by  singer  or  audience, 
Owen  accosted  the  man  in  an  undertone: 

"That's  my  cat,  you  know.  I  was  chasing 
him  when  you  caught  him,  below  there.5' 

The  other  looked  up.  The  lines  of  his  broad, 
sunburned  face  were  sullen,  the  cold  grey  eyes 
stared  insolence. 

"Ho,  is  'e?  Wot  a  bloomin'  shame!"  he 
growled.  "  'Cause  'e  'appens  to  be  mine." 

"That  won't  go,"  cried  Owen  testily.  "You 
never  saw  him  before.  Give  him  here.  I'm  will- 
ing to  pay  you  for  catching  him,  of  course." 

"Are  you  now?"  scoffed  the  stranger. 
"That's  'andsome  of  you,  too.  Pay  me  for 
catchin'  of  my  own  cat  —  my  old  shipmate 
that  'as  gone  with  me  all  these  voyages!" 

The  song  had  stopped  abruptly.  The  giant 
on  the  billiard-table,  sober  and  aggrieved,  was 
reasoning  down  at  them  in  plaintive  tones: 

"  That's  all  I  say !  I  don't  wish  to  force  my- 
[183] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

self  on  the  present  company,  and  am  far  from 
wishing  to  continue  against  the  wishes  o'  any 
members  that  may  be  wishing  me  to  stop.  But 
when  a  man  is  asked  to  sing,  and  I  may  say 
urged  to  sing,  and  is  only  willing  to  oblige  by 
singing,  then  — " 

"I'm  sorry  to  interrupt  you,"  said  Owen, 
amicably.  "  I  didn't  mean  to  make  a  disturb- 
ance,—  and  apologize  for  intruding." 

Flushed,  dripping  with  sweat,  and  smeared 
full-length  with  mud  as  from  a  street-fight,  he 
focused  the  attention  of  the  roomful.  "This 
animal  here  is  a  pet  that  escaped  from  ship- 
board. I've  chased  him  all  the  way  from  the 
German  Mail  dock  —  probably  lost  my  steam- 
er. And  now  this  man  claims  him,  and  refuses 
to  give  him  up." 

"Stow  your  nonsense,  there,  Bob," 
commanded  the  [singer.  He  consulted  a 
fat  silver  watch.  "You  may  have  time  to 
[184] 


THE  CAT'S  HOLIDAY 

make   her  yet,   sir.   Give  the  gentleman  his 
property." 

"Ho,  hindeed!"  growled  Bob.  "Wot  are 
you  suff erin'  from,  Metcalf  ?  I  say  this  is  my 
cat,  'cause  it  is  mine.  'E's  gone  many  a  voyage 
along  of  me."  Scowling  pugnaciously,  he 
perched  the  cat  on  his  broad  shoulder.  "  If  any 
o'  my  mates  was  'ere,  they'd  swear  theirselves 
black  in  the  face  to  that.  'E's  a  Japanee  cat.  I 
bought  'im  in  Kobe,  and  I  lost  'im  'ere  this 


morninV 


"That's  odd,"  retorted  Scarlett.  His  hope  of 
reaching  the  ship  had  revived ;  and  with  rising 
temper,  he  sketched  Chao  Phya's  history. 
Their  common  interest  in  pets  drew  the  sailors 
by  one's  and  two's,  into  a  group  round  the 
disputants,  —  a  group  that  broke  out  in  good- 
humoured  wrangling. 

"That's  wot 'e  is.  .  .  .  Who's  to  prove 
it  ?  ...  I  tell  you  it  ain't  no  Jap  ,  .  t 
[185] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

I  was  in  Bangkok  once,  an'  they  'ad  .  .  . 
Don't  have  no  such  sharp  noses,  I  tell  you 
There's  a  Blue  Funnel  man  'ad  a 
monkey  that  .  .  .  'E's  a  bloomin'  Manx, 
wot  run  away  afore  they  could  chop  off  his 
tail  .  .  .  spit  an'  image  of  'im.  Old  Spie- 
sen  o'  the  "  Chow  Fa  "  has  one,  name  of  Peter 
.  .  .  I  can  bloomin'  well  prove  it  .  .  . " 

Ransacking  his  pockets,  Scarlett  felt  only  a 
handful  of  Straits  silver  and  his  useless  letter 
of  credit  .  .  .  Chao  Phya's  possessor  noted 
the  movement,  and  his  surly  eyes  brightened. 

"I'm  willin'  to  sell,"  he  admitted.  "But  this 
cat  —  w'y,  this  old  chum  an'  me,  we  wouldn't 
part  under  five  pound  —  no,  nor  under  fifty 
dollars!" 

Scarlett  could  contain  himself  no  longer. 
'  You'll  part  with  him  for  nothing,"  he  said 
angrily.  "  Will  you  give  him  up  without  trouble, 
or  do  you  want  to  fight  for  him  ?  " 
[186] 


THE  CAT'S  HOLIDAY 

Open-mouthed  stupour  fell  on  the  company* 
Then,  to  Owen's  surprise,  all  hands  laughed 
uproariously. 

"Cert'nly,  mate,"  replied  the  sailor,  with  an 
obliging  air.  "That's  a  fair  offer.  I'd  fight  you 
for  less."  He  grinned  cheerfully,  winked  at  the 
on-lookers,  and  plied  his  stubby  fingers  at  his 
buttons. 

Murmurs  of  protest  mingled  with  the  laugh- 
ter: "  .  .  .  not  hardly  fair  .  .  .  Will 
'e  fight  ?  wel  1, rather!  .  .  .  Go  on,  tell  'im, 
Mac  .  .  .  The  youngster  looks  'andy 
enough,  too  .  .  .  But  he'd  ought  to  know 
who  he  was  takin'  on.  .  .  ." 

A  grey-beard  engineer  shook  his  head  at 
Scarlett,  solemnly. 

"Man,"     said    he,     "  'tis    but   honest    to 

inforrm     ye,     thon     man     is     Bob     Cutts, 

that     fought     a     drawn     fight     o'     twenty 

rounds  at    Kowloon,  wi'    Tom   Johnston  — 

[187] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

him  they  call    the   Champion  o'   the    China 
Squadron." 

"Thanks,"  said  Owen;  then  added  stiffly  — 
"It  doesn't  affect  my  offer." 

"That's  the  ticket !"  cried  a  voice,  hearty 
though  nasal.  "  That's  the  way  to  talk  to  'em, 
mister."  A  tall  young  man,  with  a  lean,  hard 
face  of  the  American  type,  clapped  him  on  the 
shoulder.  "Say,  take  me  for  your  second? 
That's  the  ticket!  Oh  Boy!  bring  towels, 
savee  ?" 

Working  with  seamanlike  despatch,  they 
dragged  the  tables  aside,  and  placed  the  lamps 
in  safety.  As  Owen  stripped  to  the  waist  in  a 
corner,  his  second  maintained  a  friendly  chat- 
ter. "  Say,  you're  an  American,  ain't  you  ?  I 
spotted  you  right  off.  So'm  I,  —  born  in 
Salem,  Mass'  —  third  on  the  '  Lambert'  — 
oil-ship.  Here,  take  my  deck-shoes  —  keep  you 
from  slippin',  see?"  He  felt  Owen's  shoulder 
[188] 


THE  CAT'S  HOLIDAY 

and  biceps,  gave  a  muted  whistle.  "  Say,  if  you 
get  a  good  crack  at  that  feller,  he  won't  think 
no  goose  kicked  him,  will  he  ?" 

The  grizzled  singer  and  the  Scots  engineer 
approached  with  ceremony,  to  propose  them- 
selves as  referees.  Scarlett,  his  thoughts  flying 
forward  to  the  ship  and  Laura,  nodded  assent 
to  their  terms. 

"  Make  it  a  short  bout,"  he  stipulated. 

From  the  other  corner,  his  foe  nodded,  half- 
friendly  and  half -scornful.  His  face  and  neck, 
ruddy  as  briar-root,  reared  from  shoulders  of 
knotted  ivory. 

"Right-oh!"  he  laughed.  "It'll  be  short 
enough,  guvnor." 

The  man  from  Salem,  tying  to  Scarlett's 
wrists  a  pair  of  dark,  malodorous  gloves,  whis- 
pered excitedly:  "Don't  you  mind  him.  I've 
seen  his  work  —  'tain't  so  much  .  *  > 
slugger  .  «  *  strong  as  a  bullock  .  .  . 
[189  ] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

but  old-fashioned.  Don't  mix  it  up  ... 
use  plenty  o'  footwork  •  <»  .  look  sharp 
and  cross-counter.  .  .  .  Mind  you,  use 
your  right  on  him.  .  .  . " 

A  bell  rang  sharply.  The  spectators  lined  the 
edge  of  the  verandah,  swung  up  to  the  tables, 
flattened  themselves  in  corners.  With  a  parting 
slap,  the  second  muttered  in  Scarlett's  ear. 
"Kill  the  bloomin'  lime-juicer!"  And 
the  two  men  stepped  out  into  the  centre, 
where  a  swaying  Chinese  lantern  twirled 
on  the  floor  a  spidery  shadow  of  thin 
spokes. 

Pre-eminent  on  the  billiard-table,  the  engi- 
neer announced  judicially : 

"This  argument,  gentlemen,  will  tairmin- 
ate  in  seven  rounds.  It  will  effect  a  deceesion 
as  to  whether  this  cat  is  a  Jap  or  a  Siamee  cat, 
and  which  of  these  two  human  bein's  is  the 
better  man." 

[190] 


THE  CAT'S  HOLIDAY 

Thus,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  and  against 
all  expectation,  Scarlett  found  himself  a  "prin- 
cipal" in  a  ring.  He  was  too  eager  and  angry 
to  care,  though  his  heart  thumped  curiously. 
Opposite  him,  Cutts,  crouching  already,  and 
hunching  upward  one  of  his  Atlantean  shoul- 
ders, stretched  out  arms  tattooed  from  wrist 
to  deltoid  in  red  and  blue  patterns  on  a  satin 
skin,  —  arms  heavy,  long  as  a  gorilla's,  and 
rippling  with  tense  muscles.  Their  padded 
hands  clinched  once,  lightly,  in  formal  salute. 
Then,  as  if  stung  by  an  electric  contact,  the  two 
men  sprang  apart.  The  sailor,  —  his  lips 
curled  in  a  set,  ominous  smile,  and  his  tat- 
tooed arms  slowly  working  —  crouched  and 
shifted  warily,  like  a  bull-dog  stealing  in  for  his 
under-hold.  Through  a  long,  indelible  moment, 
Scarlett  noted  the  light  scuff  of  their  feet,  a 
tinkle  of  the  cat's  bells  in  the  hush,  the  heavy 
sweetness  of  incense,  and  smothered  thunder 
[191] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

of  vesper  gongs  from  some  neighbouring  joss- 
house. 

In  the  first  minute,  at  the  first  onset,  the 
whole  affair  seemed  over.  Reckless,  and  with 
the  fatal  folly  of  bad  temper,  Owen  had  rushed 
in,  driven  straight  at  that  taunting  smile  the 
full  force  of  his  left,  and  met  a  staggering  coun- 
ter-shock that  jarred  his  head  backward  as  if 
on  a  bad  hinge.  His  vision  swam  hazily;  and  in 
a  ringing  confusion  the  sailor's  onslaught  swept 
him  back  with  a  whirl  of  battering,  half- 
guarded  blows,  —  drove  him  to  a  corner, 
penned  him,  forced  him  to  clinch.  Hugging  the 
smooth,  hard-wrenched  body,  he  heard  a  cool 
chuckle  of  triumph ;  then  —  as  with  straining 
muscles  they  pushed  asunder,  cautiously  —  a 
vicious  jab,  just  above  the  belt,  sent  him  sick 
and  hopeless  to  the  floor. 

It  slanted  like  a  deck  while  he  laboured  diz- 
zily to  hands  and  knees.  Above  the  tumult,  the 
[192] 


THE  CAT'S  HOLIDAY 

nasal  cry  of  his  friend  from  Salem  rang  indig- 
nant —  "Foul,  a  foul !"  He  heard  a  slow  voice 
counting:  "Five,  sax,  seven.  »  „  ." 

"  No ! "  he  gasped.  "  No  foul !  No,  no !  A  fair 
blow." 

He  regained  his  feet  somehow,  dodged  un- 
steadily but  swiftly  from  the  attack,  slipped 
away,  skirted  the  room  full  circle.  A  lucky  in- 
stinct made  him  duck  below  a  ferocious  swing; 
and  the  whiff  and  wind  of  it,  passing  over  his 
crown,  seemed  miraculously  to  clear  the  air 
He  bobbed  up  a  fighting  man  again,  cool, 
amused,  anxious  to  win,  and  to  keep  a  painful 
smile  on  cracked  and  puffing  lips. 

The  downfall  had  done  him  good.  Presently, 
in  the  exchange  of  feinting  and  checked  blows, 
his  fist  landed  true  on  the  jaw.  "  'Andy  work, 
mate,"  grunted  his  opponent,  cheerfully.  And 
spurred  by  that  contempt,  but  without  hurry, 
he  landed  three  times  more  on  body  and  head. 
[193] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

He  had  begun  to  enjoy  himself,  and  the  sailor 
to  puff  somewhat,  when  the  bell  rang  and  the 
loud  talk  broke  out. 

Relaxed  in  a  chair,  he  submitted  his  face  to 
the  mopping  of  the  second,  who  chatted  stead- 
ily: "You're  all  right  .  .  .  but  didn't  I 
tell  you  not  to  mix  it  ...  plain  straight 
counter  that  got  you  first  .  .  .  child's 
play  .  ;  ,  I  thought 'twas  all  off.  .  .  : 
That  was  a  shore  way  o'  doin'  things, 
wasn't  it  ?  .  .  .  "  Flapping  his  towel 
punkah-wise,  he  fanned  vigorously.  "Don't 
you  try  that  no  more,  now.  .  .  .  Put 
your  right  hand  to  him  .  .  .  mind  what 
I  tell  you  .  .  „  lick  him  yet.  .  .  . 
Hear  that  ?  He  said  that  he  didn't  expect  no 
second  round!" 

On    the    billiard    cloth    Ghao     Phya    sat 
blinking.       He     gave     a     cavernous,     pink 
yawn,  then  started  nervously  as  the  Scotch- 
[194] 


THE  CAT'S   HOLIDAY 

man    hammered    the    plunger   of   the   table- 
bell. 

At  the  first  stroke  Cutts  rolled  out  to  his 
place,  and  before  the  last  he  was  plunging  for- 
ward, greedy  to  give  and  take.  This  time,  how- 
ever, Scarlett  danced  free,  just  beyond  reach, 
"  with  wanton  heed  and  giddy  cunning  " ; 
placed  a  light  blow  now  and  then,  romped 
round  the  sailor,  and  stepped  aside  from  his 
heavy  charges,  as  a  chulo  evades  a  bull.  Once 
or  twice,  laughter  rose.  And  as  Owen  had 
hoped,  the  sunburned  face  that  swayed  before 
him  took  on  a  settled  scowl.  For  two  minutes 
he  skirmished  thus.  "That's  the  game!" 
crowed  his  backer,  repeatedly.  At  last,  with  a 
snarl  —  "Fight,  damn  ye!"  —  Gutts  ran  for 
him  wildly,  lashed  out  at  full  stretch. 

The  glove  rasped  hot  past  Owen's  neck,  in 
the  same  instant  that,  with  all  his  power  and 
to  the  impetus  of  both  bodies,  he  gave  the 
[195] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

cross-counter.  The  sailor  staggered  back  with 
chin  uplifted,  swayed,  for  an  interminable 
space,  as  though  undecided  which  way  to  fall, 
then  gently  collapsed  like  a  limp  bolster. 

After  dumbfounded  silence,  a  roar  drowned 
the  engineer's  counting;  but  above  the  hubbub 
shrilled  the  voice  of  Scarlett's  second,  who, 
with  an  idiot  face  of  glee,  pirouetted  in  a  skirt 
of  towels,  chanting: 

Yankee  doodle  doodle  doodle 
Doodle  doodle  doodle     .     .     . 

The  figure  on  the  floor  had  not  moved.  Two 
men  were  kneeling  beside  it.  One  looked  up 
suddenly,  and  said : 

"He's  killed  him." 

Long  afterwards  Owen  recalled  the  fellow's 
face,  the  matter-of-fact  tone,  the  stillness  and 
scared  looks  in  the  room,  the  scolding  singsong 
of  coolies  chattering  in  the  road  below.  Nor  did 
he  soon  forget  the  equal  shock  of  relief  when  an 
[196] 


THE  CAT'S  HOLIDAY 
uncertain  voice  broke  the  silence,  mumbling: 

"  'E  jolted  me  proper,  didn't  'e  ?" 

The  sailor  stirred,  rolled  over,  and  with  a 
heave  of  white  shoulders,  sat  up,  grinning, 
dazed  and  sheepish. 

"I  give  ye  best  man,"  he  announced  to  the 
general  world.  Catching  Owen's  eye,  he  nod- 
ded, feebly  but  amiably.  "If  I'd  kept  off  the 
drink  this  week  past,  p'raps  ye  wouldn't  be, 
guvnor.  'E's  your  cat." 

Scarlett  would  have  snatched  the  prize  and 
run ;  but  a  late  comer  from  the  docks  had  seen 
the  ship  leave  half  an  hour  before.  Laura  was 
gone;  his  new  acquaintances  thronged  about 
him,  with  artless  compliments;  so  yielding  to 
pressure,  he  adjourned  with  them  to  a  disreput- 
able small  hotel,  where  they  had  a  capital  din- 
ner of  French  cookery  in  a  tiny  closed  garden, 
with  good  liquor,  songs,  and  curious  tales  from 
many  ports.  They  broke  up  at  three  in  the 
[197] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

morning;  when  Bob  Cutts,  shaking  hands  af- 
fectionately for  the  last  of  some  two-score 
farewells,  declared  with  tears  that  the  pair  of 
them  together  could  abolish  the  German  navy. 

In  his  bedroom,  Scarlett  was  rubbing  his 
bruised  and  stiffened  limbs. 

"  You're  all  that's  left  me,  Chao,"  he  reflect- 
ed. "Had  a  merry  evening,  haven't  we  ?" 

The  cat  stared  up  with  pale,  distrustful  eyes, 
yawned,  lifted  his  nose  in  a  sleepy  stretch.  His 
collar  shone  in  the  lamplight.  The  middle  bell 
was  missing. 


[198] 


CHAPTER   EIGHT 

AMENDS 


CHAPTER   EIGHT 

AMENDS 

Colombo  was  long  to  figure  in  Scarlett's 
mind  as  a  Delphic  city  hidden  behind  number- 
less sunsets,  towards  which  his  ship  crawled 
with  sluggish  keel,  bringing  the  weightiest  ques- 
tion in  the  Orient.  Should  he  ever  see  Laura  ? 
This  uncertainty,  assuming  the  various  guises 
of  confidence,  despair,  resignation,  prolonged 
and  embittered  his  westward  course;  till  at  last 
the  oracle  gave  answer,  in  a  G.  O.  H.  envelope, 
inscribed  with  the  same  handwriting  that  had 
saved  his  life  two  thousand  miles  away. 

Colombo  was  a  joyful  place;  and  the  Clock 
Tower  Light  winked  a  knowing  farewell. 
Nothing  else  had  mattered.  Heaving  aside  the 
oily  stillness  of  the  Arabian  Sea,  the  ship  throb- 
bed northward.  Slowly,  one  by  one,  the  friendly 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

world  unrolled  familiar  sights  to  beguile  him 
into  patience:  the  clinkered  mounts  of  Aden; 
the  scorching,  breathless  floor  of  the  Red  Sea; 
the  steady  host  of  ships  that  passed,  close 
aboard,  dipping  their  ensigns  —  greedy  ships 
of  empire,  sullenly  racing  for  the  treasures 
of  the  East;  and  then  the  solemn  desert  moun- 
tains of  Asia  and  Africa  narrowing  in  on  either 
hand,  sharp,  crinkled  peaks  —  changeless  back- 
ground of  the  Exodus  —  in  dusty  yellow,  ashen 
grey,  and  ashen  pink,  with  ghostly  clouds  of 
sandstorm  lifting,  swirling,  falling  about  their 
bases. 

In  the  mean  time,  Laura's  letter  had  grown 
worn  with  folding  and  unfolding. 

"We  are  very  glad"  —  she  had  written  — 
"  to  find  your  cable  message  waiting  for  us  here 
at  Colombo.  I  wish  we  were  to  stay  here  till  you 
yourself  follow  it;  but  my  aimt  consents  only  to 
make  a  flying  visit  to  Kandy,  and  then  will 


AMENDS 

hurry  on.  She  has  already  spent  two  winters  in 
Egypt;  and  as  it  is  now  the  off  season  there, 
and  hot,  she  was  for  sailing  calmly  by.  At  this 
point,  however,  I  -  -  who  have  not  seen  Egypt 
—  rebelled.  So  we  shall  go  up  the  Nile  at  least 
to  Assouan,  and  then  return  to  Port  Said  and 
take  ship  for  Marseilles.  As  that  will  be  about 
the  fifteenth  of  next  month,  can't  you  join 
us  there? 

"I  am  overjoyed  to  think  that  you  are  bring- 
ing back  old  Chao  Phya.  You  cannot  imagine 
our  surprise  when  you  went  plunging  down 
the  gang-plank  to  rescue  him.  .  .-  .  Aunt 
Julia  still  thinks  that  every  one  had  gone  mad 
after  the  cat.  We  are  both  consumed  to  hear 
what  it  was  all  about,  and  why  they  locked 
you  up  and  chased  you,  and  whether  they  killed 
that  poor  wretched  Borkman,  and  what  your 
despatch  means  by  'Collar  had  ruby,  now  lost/ 
I  have  invented  wild  romances  to  explain  it  all 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

So  you  must  come  along  and  tell  us,  and  give  us 
an  opportunity  to  thank  you  for  the  kind 
things  you  have  done.  .  .  . " 

All  went  happily,  he  reflected,  as  the  ship  slid 
out  of  the  Bitter  Lakes,  past  Serapium,  and  on 
between  the  desolate  banks  of  the  canal.  For 
two  days  yet,  no  ship  would  leave  Port  Said  for 
Marseilles.  He  was  sure  to  find  her.  Chao  Phya, 
in  snug  quarters  below,  was  sleeping  out  the 
voyage.  The  Burmese  ruby,  to  be  sure,  was 
gone.  Only  the  shank  of  the  bell,  nipped  off  as 
by  strong  pincers,  remained  to  prove  that  their 
past  adventures  were  not  a  dream.  Whether  Ho 
Kong  had  won,  whether  Borkman  had  kept 
it  and  survived,  or  dying  had  given  it  to  his 
friend  Justine,  they  would  never  know.  What 
odds  ?  thought  Scarlett:  one  jewel  the  less,  — 
not  worth  a  grain  of  this  tawny  dust  where,  on 
the  rim  of  Egypt,  he  should  meet  Laura. 

It  was  high,  dry  noon  by  the  desert  sun  when 
[204] 


AMENDS 

—  among  the  crowded  hulls  of  the  world, 
Greek,  Welsh,  Italian,  Russian,  Khedivial, 
jostling  in  a  black  smudge  of  smoke  and  coal- 
dust  —  his  steamer  crept  to  her  moorings  in 
the  canal  mouth.  And  as  fast  as  his  Arab  could 
row  to  the  quay,  Scarlett  made  for  the  shipping- 
offices.  All  remaining  doubts  he  soon  resolved; 
for  there,  booked  among  the  next  week's  sail- 
ings, he  found  the  names  of  Aunt  Julia  and  her 
niece.  He  despatched  a  dragoman  for  his  trunks, 
brought  Chao  Phya  ashore,  mewing,  in  a  bas- 
ket, and  settled  down  at  the  least  dingy  hotel  in 
Port  Said,  to  wait  with  content. 

As  he  gave  in  his  name,  the  manager  sur- 
prised him  by  saying : 

"Your  friend  has  expected  you.  He  has  in- 
quired several  times." 

"What  friend  ?"  asked  Owen.  The  manager 
could  not  remember,  —  was  not  sure  that  the 
gentleman  had  given  his  name :  but  he  was  a  tall 

[205] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

man,  clean-shaven,  of  military  appearance, 
though  very  pale,  —  in  fact,  plainly  an  invalid. 
He  had  spoken,  said  the  manager,  as  though 
he  lived  in  Alexandria. 

No  one  in  the  roll-call  of  memory  answered 
to  the  description;  no  one  in  all  Egypt,  save 
Laura  and  her  aunt,  knew  that  Scarlett  was 
to  pass  even  through  that  part  of  the  world; 
and  he  was  puzzled  not  a  little.  When  the  days 
lagged  by,  however,  and  brought  no  news  of 
the  stranger,  Owen  gave  up  the  matter  as  a 
mistake. 

The  interval  of  waiting  passed  pleasantly. 
Now  that  Chao  Phya,  stripped  to  his  intrinsic 
worth,  could  be  immured  or  left  with  servants 
like  any  common  cat,  he  had  ceased  to  be  a 
clog  and  burden.  At  this  lively  coal-bin  by  the 
great  ditch,  where  night  and  day,  to  the  click 
of  backgammon  men  and  the  thin  strains  of 
cafe  violins,  the  chattering  races  of  all  conti- 
[206] 


AMENDS 

nents  smoked  and  drank  in  a  clutter  of  pistachio 
shells,  he  hailed  more  than  one  familiar  white- 
clad  figure  that  passed,  lonely  and  bored,  with 
rolling  gait,  through  the  feathery  shade  of  the 
acacias.  More  than  one  of  these  old  friends  — 
skippers  of  China  ships,  bound  outward  or 
homeward  —  sat  late  with  him,  rejoicing  to 
exchange  the  latest  gossip  from  the  little,  far- 
scattered  community  of  the  East.  At  tiffins 
aboard  ship,  noisy  and  grimed  with  coaling,  or 
at  bad  dinners  in  cramped  rooms  ashore,  they 
talked  of  men,  women,  and  ships,  of  things 
past,  of  wars,  bargains,  jokes,  and  tragedies 
half  a  world  away.  And  then,  with  a  laugh  and 
a  "Chin-chin!"  these  transient  friends  were 
gone,  never,  by  all  chance,  to  be  seen  again. 

Such  encounters  carried  his  thoughts  back 

to  many  a  scene  beyond  the  Straits ;  but  on  the 

night  before  Laura  should  arrive,  something 

else  was  to  carry  them,  and  with  a  start  of  as- 

[207] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

tonishment,  back  to  those  bewildered  days  in 
Bangkok. 

He  had  entered  his  bedroom  and  turned  on 
the  light;  and  there  along  the  wall  stood  his 
trunks  and  bags,  yawning  open,  their  contents 
tumbled  in  disorder.  The  former  attempt  of 
Ho  Kong  recurred  to  him  so  vividly  that  he  un- 
bolted the  shutters  of  the  French  window,  and 
stepped  out  quickly,  as  though  half  expecting 
to  see  again  the  plump  goldsmith's  clerk.  But 
this  time  the  long,  dark  verandah  was  empty. 

As  midnight  was  now  past,  the  intruder 
could  have  had  choice  of  the  four  hours  since 
dinner.  For  his  pains  he  had  got  little  enough : 
he  had  left  all  of  Scarlett's  few  valuables,  but 
taken  his  revolver  and  cartridges,  and  —  strang- 
est of  all  —  had  cut  in  two  every  cake  of  soap 
in  the  room,  had  poured  into  the  basin  a  pint 
of  excellent  brandy,  had  flayed  half  the  leather 
from  the  flask  itself,  and  torn  to  shreds  every 

[208] 


AMENDS 

one  of  fifty  fat,  black  Indian  cigars.  It  seemed 
the  mischief  of  an  ape  or  a  madman. 

He  reported  to  a  sleepy  Arab,  received  his 
vain  protestations,  and  was  soon  in  bed.  Sleep, 
however,  came  reluctantly.  Long  thoughts  of 
the  morrow  filled  his  mind,  of  how  he  should 
meet  Laura,  of  what  they  should  tell  each  other; 
then  these  grew  confused,  and  gave  way  to  a 
weary  half  sleep. 

It  must  have  been  towards  morning  that  he 
found  himself  awake  and  wondering.  The 
room  was  flooded  with  light.  He  rolled  over, 
and  through  blur  of  sleep  and  haze  of  mos- 
quito-curtain saw,  sitting  at  the  table  in  the 
middle  of  the  room,  a  stranger  in  grey  flannels. 
The  trembling  brilliancy  of  the  drop-light 
swung  just  above  the  close-cropped  head. 
They  eyed  each  other  in  silence  for  a  moment. 
"The  stranger  from  Alexandria,"  was  Owen's 
first  rational  thought;  for  his  visitor  was  tall, 

[209] 


THE  SIAMESE    CAT 

square-shouldered,  with  a  hard,  imperious  face, 
clean  of  feature,  and  pale  as  with  a  mortal  sick- 
ness. The  thin  lips  drooping  cynically  at  the 
corners,  the  deep  parenthetic  gravings  in  either 
cheek,  not  only  gave  the  face  a  cruel  look,  but 
bespoke  a  man  tugged  of  fortune.  Both  the 
broad  forehead  and  the  heavy-shadowed  eyes, 
alert  and  thoughtful,  were  curiously  familiar. 
The  stranger  smiled. 

"Don't  know  me,  do  you,  Mr.  Scarlett?" 
he  said,  with  the  voice  of  Borkman.  "Good- 
morning." 

The  surprise  brought  also  a  presentiment 
of  disaster.  Owen  stared,  incapable  of  speech. 

"  One's  beard  does  make  a  difference,  doesn't 
it?"  said  the  other,  affably.  "But  I  see  you 
know  my  voice.  No  way  of  shaving  that  off,  is 
there  ?  Unfortunate,  because  the  further  west 
of  Suez  we  go,  the  more  persons  know  me 
whom  I'm  not  anxious  to  meet  again.  However, 
[210] 


AMENDS 

I'm  hoping  we  part  company  to-night,  —  this 
morning,  rather." 

"  What  do  you  want  ? "  asked  Owen,  sitting 
up. 

"  What  do  you  suppose  ?  "  jfaughed  Borkman. 
"What  could  have  brought  me  all  this  way  to 
see  you,  when  the  doctor  said  it  would  finish 
me  to  move  ?  What  took  me  down  to  visit  your 
cat  in  the  cellar  of  'this  battered  caravanserai'  ? 
Eh  ?  What  made  me  go  through  all  your  things 
this  evening  —  soap,  flask,  boot-heels,  shaving- 
brush  handle,  cigars,  the  whole  sub  chiz,  — and 
your  clothes  since  you've  been  asleep  ?  Come 
now,  you're  by  no  means  an  ass.  I  used  to  be- 
lieve I  wasn't,  till  that  morning  I  lost  my  temper 
aboard  the  'Muang-Fang.'  That  was  my  mis- 
play  in  this  game,  wasn't  it  ?" 

"If  you  mean  the  ruby  that  Ho  Kong  told 
me  about,"  said  Owen,  "I  haven't  it.  I've 
never  even  seen  it." 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

Borkman  shrugged  his  great  shoulders,  but 
stopped  with  a  twitch  as  of  pain. 

"That  hurt  my  side/'  he  grumbled.  "The 
thing's  barely  healing — So  you've  never  seen  it, 
eh  ?  Naturally,  that's  the  first  light  in  which 
you'd  wish  to  view  the  affair.  Please  consider. 
I've  another  argument  to  bring  forward  later, 
if  necessary." 

"I  haven't  it,"  repeated  Owen.  "You've 
taken  your  journey  for  nothing.  I've  thought 
either  you  had  it  or  the  goldsmith's  clerk." 

"Think  again,"  said  Borkman,  satirically. 
"  When  you  saw  Ho  Kong  cutting  me  up  there 
in  the  carriage-way,  I'd  just  come  from  bribing 
the  cat  out  of  the  servants'  quarters.  There 
wasn't  light  enough  or  time  enough  for  me  to 
unlock  the  collar  or  cut  it  off.  As  for  the  gold- 
smith coolie,  he  hopped  out  of  those  bushes  and 
knifed  me  like  winking.  The  beastly  cat  jumped 
straight  out  of  my  arms  into  yours.  Well  ?" 


AMENDS 

"I  didn't  know  that,"  said  Owen.  "That 
makes  it  more  of  a  puzzle  than  ever."  He  re- 
counted briefly  his  dealings  in  Singapore.  "So 
you  see  you're  here  for  nothing." 

"Interesting  story  and  well  told,"  admitted 
Borkman,  smiling.  "Only  I  don't  believe  a 
word  of  it.  Now  it's  time  you  saw  things  in  that 
other  light  I  spoke  of.  Here's  what  may  per- 
suade you."  He  withdrew  his  hand  from  the 
table,  and  disclosed  a  black,  polished  object  — 
the  missing  revolver.  "I  should  regret  using 
this,  both  for  your  sake  and  my  own.  But  my 
affairs  are  at  such  low  ebb,  nothing  can  make 
them  much  worse.  And  the  thing  itself  is  a  good 
tidy  fortune.  I'll  give  you  one  minute  to  tell 
where  you've  stowed  it.  Then  if  you  are  still 
stubborn,  I'll  begin  firing  promptly,  and  the 
odds  are  I'll  pot  you  first  shot.  You'd  best  not 
move  in  the  mean  time." 

He  unhooked  his  watch,  laid  it  on  the  table, 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

and  studied  it  for  an  instant,  like  a  lecturer  pre- 
paring to  speak  by  the  dial. 

"Minute  begins  now,"  he  announced.  The 
ticking  sounded  at  once  loud  and  distant. 

"You  don't  dare  to,  in  this  hotel."  Owen 
managed  to  speak  calmly. 

"Don't  I?"  retorted  Borkman.  "Wait  and 
see.  I'll  put  the  revolver  beside  you,  leave  this 
good-bye  chit  for  the  girl  —  you  know  how  well 
I  do  your  handwriting :  wish  there  were  time  to 
read  you  my  bit  of  composition  —  then  go  out 
by  the  verandah,  bolt  the  shutters  in  the  same 
way  that  I  unbolted  them.  No  one  else  on  your 
floor.  Clear  case,  eh  ?  Felo  de  se  ?"  Grinning, 
he  bent  towards  the  watch.  "  Half-time.  Any- 
thing to  say  ?" 

"  I  give  you  my  word  of  honour,"  said  Owen, 
slowly,  "  that  I've  never  seen  the  stone,  that  I 
haven't  it  now,  and  that  I  don't  know  where  it 
is." 

[214] 


AMENDS 

The  pale  face,  strange  and  yet  well-known, 
regarded  him  unchanging,  from  beneath  the 
light.  The  tiny  voice  of  Time  continued,  brisk 
as  a  cricket.  A  sense  of  monstrous  unfairness 
oppressed  him,  that  on  the  eve  of  rejoining 
Laura  this  could  happen,  and  for  something 
that  he  had  neither  sought  nor  possessed. 

"Past  three-quarters,"  said  Borkman.  He 
raised  the  eloquent  cold  muzzle.  "  Feel  like  say- 
ing anything?" 

"  What's  the  use  ?"  rejoined  Scarlett,  angrily. 
"  I  gave  you  my  word  of  honour." 

A  few  seconds  of  silence  followed ;  then  Bork- 
man lowered  his  hand. 

"Wish  I  had  a  drink,"  he  grumbled. 
"  Haven't  had  one  since  the  doctor  cut  me  off. 
Might  as  well,  though.  As  you  say,  what  is  the 
use  ?  Damn  it,  youngster!"  he  tossed  the  pistol 
on  the  table,  nodding  vigorously,  with  an  air  of 
disgust  — "  do  you  know,  I  believe  you.  Wish  I 
[215] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

didn't.  Wish  I  had  a  drink.  No,  it  wasn't  cour- 
age on  your  part,  ...  or  lying  it  out 
.  .  .  just  the  truth.  I  felt  that  .  .  . 
because  [I'd  put  you  in  a  blue  funk." 

"You'd  not!"  cried  Owen,  disdainfully. 

"Then  why,  to  be  precise,  are  you  trying  to 
rip  down  the  curtain  ?" 

For  the  first  time,  Owen  was  aware  that  his 
hand,  raised  and  full  of  torn  mosquito-gauze, 
was  trembling  violently. 

"Don't  attempt  lying,"  advised  the  big  man, 
with  a  contemptuous  chuckle.  "  You  can't.  Rum 
things,  these  words  of  honour."  He  snapped 
the  chain  back  on  his  watch,  stood  musing, 
then  added  with  a  note  of  wonder:  "My  word, 
I've  seen  them  make  a  man  act  against  his  own 
interest  —  mind  you,  his  own  interest.  Funny 
things.  .;  .  ." 

He  pondered  again,  shaking  his  cropped 
head. 

[216] 


AMENDS 

"  So  Giles  Borkman  is  on  his  blooming  little 
beam-ends,"  he  continued.  "  That  stone  .  .  . 
the  only  perfect  pigeon-blood  I've  ever  seen; 
even  badly  cut,  it  was  a  fortune.  Well,  makee 
finish!  The  pockmarked  coolie  has  it,  I  dare 
say,  or  the  other  Chinaman.  Yes :  that's  where 
it's  gone.  They  followed  us  down  to  the  Straits, 
just  as  Ho  Kong  did;  and  if  I  could  bribe  the 
servants  that  evening,  why  so  could  they  — 
and  before  I  arrived." 

He  looked  very  white  and  old  as  he  stood 
there,  a  tired  giant,  stroking  by  force  of  habit 
his  bare  chin. 

"  Not  all  beer  and  skittles,  is  it  ?  "  he  inquired 
eying  Scarlett  as  though  out  of  a  reverie.  "I 
mean  my  sort  of  pidgin,  you  know.  Now  it's 
back  to  the  East  again.  There's  a  Bibby  to  sail 
this  morning,  early.  God  knows  what  next 
.  .  .  perhaps  I'll  makee  finish  myself,  eh  ? 
Had  some  queer  thoughts  lately,  lying  on  my 
[217] 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

back  so  long.  By  the  way,  tell  the  ladies  that 
their  shipmate,  the  invalid  gentleman,  sends 
them  his  salaam.  I  travelled  all  the  way  here 
with  them,  knowing  you'd  turn  up,  of  course." 

He  edged  closer  to  the  table,  picked  up  the 
revolver,  snapped  it  open,  jingled  the  cartridges 
in  his  palm. 

"You  never  can  tell  just  how  far  to  trust 
these  word-of -honour  persons,  after  all,3'  he  ex- 
plained. "  Words  of  honour !  Anyway,  good-bve, 
my  boy." 

Something  in  the  painful  movements,  the 
downcast  face,  the  air  of  defeat,  evoked  a  kindly 
feeling  as  Owen  replied : 

"  Good-bye.  I  wish  you  luck,  Borkman,  and 
a  better  pidgin." 

"Don't  preach,"  he  answered  with  a  grim- 
ace. "That's  how  you  have  always  made  me 
tired.  Thanks,  all  the  same." 

He  unhooked  the  door,  went  out,  and  closed 
[218] 


AMENDS 

it.  Suddenly,  opening  it  again,  he  thrust  in  his 
head,  and  fixed  the  young  man  with  a  long 
scrutiny. 

"I  don't  see  what  it  is  about  you,"  he  de- 
clared, as  if  in  deep  perplexity.  "Why  didn't 
I  pull  trigger  then  ?  Hmph !  And  do  you  re- 
call kicking  me  once  ?  What  do  you  think  ? 
Turned  Christian,  or  am  I  fey  ?  You're  beyond 
me.  .  .  .  And  yet  talk  of  your  open 
books.  .  .  ." 

He  withdrew  his  head,  shut  the  door,  and  de- 
parted. After  a  space,  however,  he  returned 
and  looked  in  once  more,  grinning  sourly: 

"  That  must  be  the  reason  why  you  can  never 
read  any  one  else.  That  Holborow  girl  — nice 
little  thing:  may  interest  you  to  know,  she's 
head  over  heels  in  love  with  a  young  idiot." 

This  time  he  was  gone  forever,  leaving  Scar- 
lett bolt  upright,  with  his  mind  in  a  whirl. 

And  yet  this  final  message,  which  at  the  dawn 
[219] 


THE    SIAMESE    GAT 

was  worth  all  the  dangers  he  had  passed,  be- 
came by  daylight  the  palest  mockery  and 
dream;  for  that  afternoon,  as  he  walked  with 
Laura,  it  did  not  in  the  least  encourage  or 
avail  him.  Their  ship  was  to  sail  next  morning; 
Aunt  Julia  was  despatching  a  multitude  of  let- 
ters; they  had  shared  half  the  bright  day.  He 
had  unfolded  the  full  history  of  Chao  Phya 
and  the  lost  ruby  of  Burmah;  the  cat  himself 
now  trotted  with  them  along  the  Quai  Fran- 
cois Joseph,  as  they  gave  him,  with  fluctuating 
success,  his  first  lesson  in  following  to  heel; 
nothing  remained  for  Owen  but  to  tell  his  own 
story:  yet  the  sun  was  drawing  down  behind 
Lake  Menzaleh,  and  still  their  talk  idled  in 
generalities.  Never,  of  any  one  in  his  life  be- 
fore, had  he  been  so  afraid. 

They  loitered  out  on  the  long  breakwater, 
and  passed  beside  the  pedestal  on  which  the 
bronze  de  Lesseps,  stiff  and  commonplace, 


AMENDS 

waves  clumsy  permission  to  sailor  nations  who 
hold  the  gorgeous  East  in  fee.  Four  times,  be- 
tween this  statue  and  the  end  of  the  break- 
water, Owen  began;  and  four  times  Laura, 
constrained  and  wary,  slipped  away  like  the 
poet's  filly  in  the  fields. 

"  How  large  a  ruby  could  they  put  inside  the 
bell?"  she  asked,  irrelevantly. 

"Who  cares?"  said  Owen.  "But  I'll  show 
you." 

An  old  Arab  perched  on  the  edge,  fishing, —  a 
little  heap  of  bait  beside  him,  and  his  provender 
of  unripe  dates  forming  a  vermilion  puddle  in 
the  sunlight.  He  lent  his  knife,  courteously, 
with  a  wrinkled  smile. 

Owen  caught  up  Ghao  Phya,  and  pried  at 
one  of  the  remaining  bells. 

"Do  be  careful!"  commanded  Laura. 
"You'll  cut  him.  You  wouldn't  care,  would 
you?  Men  don't  like  cats." 


THE    SIAMESE    CAT 

The  edges  of  the  cockle-shell  began  slowly 
to  gape. 

"Love  me,  love  my  dog,"  said  Owen  sud- 
denly, looking  up.  "That  holds,  even  with  a 
Siamese  cat.  Laura.  .  .  . " 

His  voice  trembled.  Both  had  turned  a  little 
pale,  and  the  girl,  studying  the  broad  squares 
of  stone,  would  have  drawn  away.  But  they 
stood  now  at  the  outermost  verge;  and  as  he 
continued  speaking,  she  could  find  no  way  of 
escape.  The  moist  wind  fluttered  her  skirts. 
The  dark  waves  of  the  Mediterranean,  mother 
sea  of  our  anxious  western  world,  danced  to- 
wards them  from  the  sunset. 

Something  tinkled  at  their  feet.  In  their 
happy  trouble  and  confusion,  they  glanced 
down. 

Ho  Kong  had  fooled  them  one  and  all,  had 
played  his  own  hand,  and  lost;  for  there  on  the 
warm-lighted  granite  shone  a  pebble  brighter 


AMENDS 

than  the  dates,  brighter  than  the  blood  it  had 
cost. 

"Oh!"  cried  Laura,  her  eyes  wide  and 
frightened.  She  had  stepped  back  as  if  from  a 
cockatrice.  "Look,  Owen!  What.  *  .  ." 

He  stooped,  caught  it  up,  and  held  his  closed 
hand  over  the  water  that  plashed  below. 

"Unless  you  hear  me  out  now/'  he  threat- 
ened, "I'll  throw  it  in." 

THE  END 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  PROM  WHICH  BORROWED 


This 


REC*D  L 


-Dear 


DEC    1  19675 


m+t- 


LD  21, 

(A9562slO)476E 


University  of  California 
Berkeley 


